Far From Georgia
by ShaNini86
Summary: I'm sure this has been done before, but what if Reid had continued using drugs post "Revelations?" Reid centric, although the whole team's involved in one way or another. Chapter 62 is the newest, and last, chapter!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone. I'm sorry for all the email notifications some of you are probably getting right now. I accidentally deleted a chapter and I had to reload the story. Chapter 15 and chapter 16 are the newest. I'm so sorry for being annoying. **

**I think I originally wrote here that I used to write SVU fanfiction and this is my first CM fanfiction. I've never really seen an entire season, but the episode "Revelations" peeked my interests. Enjoy :)  
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"_Sometimes I just get so far from Georgia that I do not know the man behind my eyes."-The District "Georgia"_

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At a young age, Spencer Reid simply knew things. Why he knew them, no one was entirely sure, but Reid understood this penchant for facts had caused him to remain on the fringe, bordering real life and the understanding that he would always be different. When he was younger (and up until quite recently) it had been a taunting whisper of "outcast." But, after joining the BAU, his mind had been proven to be an asset.

That was, Reid surmised, until now.

The empty pews were lined in front of him in straight rows, with more edging backwards towards the two large double doors that led to the street. A mile or so down the road was the BAU headquarters. He'd be expected there soon, but, for now, Reid stared at the large crucifix hanging from the ceiling. Underneath the cross, an alter was bathed in a dim light that sent weak rays outward. The church smelled like burning candles and dust, and except for the occasional blare from a car horn or the chatter of people on the sidewalks outside, it was quite and serene. Reid found that he wished his mind would stay still like this. Maybe then, he could sort through the last few months.

Reid was not a religious person, although he could quote the Bible from memory. After all, his knowledge of Bible verses had prepared him for what was coming. He knew that sending his mother away, at least in the situation he had been in, would result in his death. What he couldn't comprehend now was how to live when death had seemed so imminent, so real, and so close.

Each night, Reid entered the cemetery in his dreams: the expansive country sky filled with stars; the orchestra of chirping crickets; graves of crumbling, ancient stone; the soft sway of tree branches in the wind; and the moon illuminating the hills, drawing long shadows of branches and leaves onto the grass. But when his dreams evolved, the backdrop all but disappeared. It then became a series of graves Reid was forced to dig and a muzzle of a gun against his forehead. Sometimes, he awoke, sweaty from an imagined game of cat and mouse. Other times, he was shot, causing him to jerk awake so violently that his sheets and pillows tumbled to the floor. More than once, he awoke peacefully, only to find that the dream had continued in his own apartment. The latter dreams seemed part of a much scarier reality for Reid. It was as if Tobias in all his forms had overcome death and entered Reid's waking life. And Reid saw him everywhere-on the subway, in the aisles at grocery store, even pushing a bucket and mop in the hallways of the BAU. It felt as though no place was sacred or safe.

All of these memories both assaulted and frustrated Reid. Was it enough to have to literally dig his own grave once, or would he be doomed to revisit the soft, dark soil every night and the feeling of his unworked and unmarked palms against the shovel's handle? And when he had tossed the earth aside, Reid had remembered the way the leaves smelled like the ash of burning pine. Las Vegas had never anything but hot and dry, and he thought that if this was any other situation, he'd like the smell and the crisp air.

Reid's cell phone vibrated against his leg, causing him to hit his protruding tail bone against the wooden pew. He knew it wasHotch, or Morgan, or any one of them. He also knew he was late. The confines of the church suddenly felt too small as the weight on his chest became unbearable. Reid looked at the stained glass depictions, and wondered how no one suspected anything. It had been months, and his jitteriness and agitation had seemed to be on the receiving end of an occasional stern or worrisome look, but that was it. Reid knew he was intelligent, but he never thought he would be smart enough to fool the other FBI profilers. Reaching into his bag to quell the rapidly rising anxiety, his fingers grazed the bottles he had taken off the still-warm body of Tobias. Over the past few months, Reid had carried the bottles with him, stealing his hand into his bag to calm himself when other means weren't available. They had become somewhat of a worry rock for him, and Reid wondered when he had become such a anxious person.

"_Do you think I'll see my mom?"_ The dead man's eyes seemed to be in every window. Even the crucifix mocked Reid, transporting thoughts that he knew were self-deprecating: _You could have helped him more. You should have fought harder. You're not as resilient as you think. You're weak. _Reid wished that there was a practicing choir or organ player to remove him from his own mind. Lately, it seemed like nothing helped. When his phone vibrated again, Reid sighed, releasing his light grasp on the bottles .The effort to stand felt draining, but he knew his tardiness was bordering on insubordination.

The outside air was humid and Reid felt sweat immediately pool between his shoulder blades. That night in Georgia hadn't been warm, but he remembered he had been hot, lingering between a burning and a warmth that crept through him, starting from his heart and radiating outwards. The Dilaudid had caused the false sense of comfort, but he had remembered it had been momentary relief. Reid's watch told him he was more than ten minutes late and he broke into an odd gallop once the BAU was in site. Messed up or not, he still had a job to do. Once in the building and through security, Reid made his way around familiar corners without the slightest knowledge that he had been the topic of conversation in the conference room.


	2. Chapter 2

"_It's coming down to nothing more than apathy. I'd rather run the other way than stay and see the smoke and who's still standing when it clears."-The Fray "Over My Head (Cable Car)"_

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"He's late again?" Prentiss asked, unsure if she was living in some alternate universe. She did not know Reid as well as the others, but she knew he loved his job, he worked hard, and he was always on time.

"I'm actually glad he is," Hotch began, surveying his team with the same eyes he used from crime scenes and interrogations. "A few of you have come to me with concerns about Reid." _Actually, all of you have, and I've never said a word until now What kind of leader does that make me? _Hotch thought, keeping that knowledge to and for himself.

"He's been-" Morgan planned on saying more about how Reid had been irritable and jumpy, but his outburst was controlled by one stern look in his direction. He couldn't help but feel he had been reprimanded.

"After what happened, it's not a surprise things aren't going well" Hotch did not need to mention "The Hankel Case", "Tobias", or "Georgia" because the team understood. The memory of their youngest agent battling for his life was still fresh in all their minds.

"It's just-" JJ began, but, from across the room, Garcia's eyes widened in panic as she saw Reid fly into the BAU. He was walking so fast that his messenger bag slammed against his upper thigh. Hotch spotted Reid too.

"Look guys, just try to keep an eye on him. Don't make it too obvious, though. If you do, you and I both know he'll get suspicious.." Morgan opened his mouth in protest, but was silenced once again.

"It's not wrong, Morgan." Gideon growled from the corner of the room where he stood with his eyes crossed. "We'd ask the same for anyone here." Gideon glanced at Hotch, signaling he was done talking. From the looks he was receiving, Hotch could tell that the task was not liked, but understood.

"I know this feels invasive," he explained. "But this is Reid guys. He's too smart for his own good sometimes, and he may need our help more than he's letting on." Reid's footsteps could be heard right outside the room. Just before he entered the conference room, Hotch gave one last request.

"Act normal."


	3. Chapter 3

"_And they say, 'Open up, we're comin' inside. You can't run, so you may as well hide.'"-Dispatch "Open Up_

"Sorry I'm late." Reid took his seat at the round table, out of breath and shivering because of the blasting BAU air conditioning. Reid looked at the team around him to see if anyone noticed his late arrival. Hotch studied the white board with a detached interest; Morgan glared in his general direction but not directly at him, and Gideon slouched into a chair, appearing tired. JJ was too busy handing out folders to send any look his way, and Prentice was paying more attention to her coffee than she was to Reid's tardiness. _Coffee would be wonderful right now, _he thought, making a mental note to acquire a cup as soon as possible.

"Alright, let's get started." JJ scanned the room and once she was aware that everyone had her attention, she began. Reid studied to photos in front of him and soon felt as though he had been transported. Bodies, in dead, dry fall leaves, burned into his eyes. When he closed them to regain composure, he saw the cabin, the gun, and heard the flat _"choose." _

"Reid? Are you alright?" JJ was watching Spenser, who had gone as pale as the surrounding walls. His cheekbones had become more pronounced, and his body slightly shook, as if the air was too cold and his sweater and collared shirt provided no warmth. Ignoring the look she received from Hotch, she placed a hand on Reid's arm. He jumped, causing some of his folder's contents to fall to the floor.

"I…" Reid opened his eyes to meet everyone else, as they were all now all focused on his apparent discomfort. His limbs felt as though they were bound to the table and his lips cracked with dryness. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well." To avoid further eye contact, he busied himself gathering papers and photographs. JJ took this moment to lock eyes with Hotch before continued reviewing their newest case.

The buzz of JJ's voice swarmed around Spenser's ears like an annoying mosquito. He wanted to swat at her, the team, and the case. When he tried to concentrate on the white board's markings, the letters merged into incomprehensible terms. His stomach clenched with unrelenting force, and Reid took a deep breath. Even though he was regretting his previous night's actions, he also vowed that he not become sick in front of everyone. Instead, he recited poems and passages to quell the rapidly rising bile and anxiety.

"Everyone get your bags ready. We leave in a half hour." Hotch said the magic words, and the team stirred around him. "You too, Garcia. The computer systems are pretty advanced, so we're going to need you with us. " Reid saw her nod and gather her things. He hadn't even realized she was in the room. Before Gideon or anyone else could stop him, Reid grabbed his own bag, and rushed out of the room to find an empty bathroom stall where he could release the contents of his upset stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everyone who left comments, added me, and sent me messages with correct character spellings. I really appreciate it. Enjoy :)  
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"_Woke him up with a barrel to his head, his eyes shut tight bracing for the blow, resigning his life to the metal held in another man's hand." State Radio"Camilo"_

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On the plane, Reid tried to focus on the night before. Everything ached, and his head felt as though it was not securely fastened to the rest of his body. The effort to stay awake was becoming a battle between gravity and his eyelids. The plane's familiar seat greeted him like an old friend, encompassing his joints and limbs with its soft fabric and a just-right give of cushion. For the first time in a long time, Reid felt tension leave him, and he wondered just when he had felt so old. In truth, he was the youngest person on the team, but he sometimes felt older than both Hotch and Gideon. Last night probably didn't help, but Reid still couldn't figure out how to draw boundary lines when came to things like that.

He knew he could disappear into the bathroom with the Dilaudid, thereby letting it erase any semblance of the hangover he was experiencing, but it just didn't seem right to use Tobias's bottles. He had tried to help him the only way he knew or understood how, and Reid kept the potent liquid as a reminder, or more a homage, to Tobias, his fucked up existence, and to the situation that was always there every time he closed his eyes. While he had kept and never used the two vials from that night in Georgia, that hadn't stopped him from obtaining Dilaudid and other narcotics through alternative means. _You should feel the effects of last night, _his brain punished. _This is how it feels when you get out of control._

The previous night, Reid discovered that the Valium he had obtained from his college-aged, upstairs neighbor in return for a case of beer had not produced the affects he would have liked, prompting him to find something-anything-that would quell the terror the oncoming night would bring. Reid had considered returning to the neighbor and offering money for the exchanged beer, but it had sounded pathetic, even to him. He figured there had to be something else in his small apartment. Reid was not a pack rat or overly sentimental, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he had to have _something._ After what seemed like an exhausting search, he reached into the depths of a high, unused cabinet, and stumbled on a dusty, old, but completely full, bottle of scotch he had received as a present a few years prior. Reid vaguely remembered being handed the bottle of scotch from one of his professors who had been impressed with a recent publication.

For a moment, Reid held the bottle in his hands and imagined all the millions of neurons and synaptic clefts shooting static across his brain, and he wondered if his genius was attributed to his more than average electric connections. Or maybe the appropriate social skills had never set, so he was given intelligence as a way to ease that particular pain. Whatever it was, Reid figured, he had never found himself wanting to waste his intelligence- and everything else-before. His mind thought of Tobias and his lack of choice because his life had not granted him any other. Reid realized, if he was going to go down, then it would be his decision and certainly not Morgan's, or Hotch's, or anyone else's for that matter. It was with those thoughts, that Reid pried open the bottle and began to drink. He hoped morning would come fast.

And it had: one minute, he was done the valium and drinking scotch, and, the next, he was waking up on his couch, his neck stiff from sleeping at an odd angle. On the coffee table, was a plastic syringe Reid had not remembered obtaining, and Tobias's two vials that were still full but in plain sight. Reid didn't know how close he had come to injecting them, but judging from his headache, he was glad he hadn't. Now, waiting for takeoff and feeling queasy, he wished he had saved something to ease the hangover the next day.

"You alright, kid? You're lookin' kind of pale." Morgan whispered so the others wouldn't hear, leaning close to the younger agent who, he noted, had skin the color of ash. Dark bags accented Reid's bloodshot eyes, and the boy had dried sweat lining the edges of his hairline. His clothes were wrinkled and he hadn't removed the tan bag from his lap since entering the jet. Five gnawed fingernails drummed rapidly against the adjacent armrest. Morgan had seen Reid fidget before, but he noticed now that the slightest touch would have him shooting out of his seat.

"I told you, I'm not feeling well." Reid averted his eyes to his scuffed converses poking out from underneath his cords, which he noted felt looser with each passing day. His mother had always attributed his scrawny frame to the copious amounts of coffee he consumed. _She'd never guess what was causing it now_, he thought. Reid watched Morgan stow his to go bag under the seat directly across from him. _Maybe if I had been bigger or stronger like Morgan, I could have fought off Tobias…_ Underneath the team, the jet's engines roared to life, breaking Reid's thoughts, and propelling everyone into thinner altitudes.

"You look like hell, man." Morgan surveyed his younger colleague, the one he saw as a little brother, and wondered what had happened. Reid being late was one thing, but Reid looking like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown was another story entirely.

"Thanks, Morgan." This time, Reid did look at the older agent, meeting his concerned eyes with annoyed ones.

"Did you take anything?" Morgan asked.

"What?" For an unreal moment, Reid wondered if he was transparent and if Morgan could see through him and to the drug residuals flowing through his veins. Then his brain reminded him Morgan thought he was sick and was inquiring if he took anything for his apparent illness. _If he only knew, _Reid thought. He longed to break Morgan's stare by looking out the window at the white cloud puffs.

"No. Just letting it pass." Reid lied, fixating his gaze on Morgan's eyes, seeing how far back he could reach. Somewhere inside of him, he hoped he was transparent and that Morgan would understand without an exchange of words.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" The flat, unaffected look Morgan was receiving made his spine prickle, but he knew he had hit some nerve when a spark lit somewhere way back in the hazel mix. Somewhere Morgan figured the old Reid was, hidden under the weight of recent events.

"Nothing, Morgan." Reid turned away, pretending to want to sleep. "I'm fine." Morgan pressed his lips together, but didn't pry further. If he knew anything, Reid's mind was never still. Eventually, Reid did fall asleep, his face squashed against the thick window. Morgan had watched him for some time, studying the way his curls brushed against his temples. Every so often, Reid's eyelashes would flutter and he'd turn to the other side of the seat. When Reid began to mumble and move erratically, Morgan debated waking him up, but his curiosity got the best of him.

"Nightmare?" Hotch whispered, leaning over from his seat across the aisle. Morgan shrugged, turning his attention back to Ried, who was beginning to move with more intensity.

"Maybe."

"It looks like it." Hotch commented, his dark eyes resting on his youngest agent. Suddenly, both men were surprised when Reid bolted awake with a loud "No!"

Reid had been embarrassed many times in his life, but his cheeks immediately caught fire. The entire team had turned to face him. An eerie quiet had fallen over the plane's occupants.

"You alright?" It was Prentiss who spoke first. The sight of Reid was too much for her, and, from the looks of him, it was too much for Reid too. Sweat tricked down his cheeks, gathering at his collar bones. She saw his eyes dart back and forth and could hear his breath escaping his lips in jagged spurts. Reid closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus his thoughts. When he opened them, he found that everyone was still staring. He wished they'd look away.

"Yeah, fine. Excuse me," He didn't even wait for Morgan to move his legs as he shoved past and headed towards the airplane bathroom. Once inside, he retched quietly into the tiny toilet. In his dream, Tobias had captured JJ too. The dogs had been released, and he had been forced to watch as she had been mutilated. The memories alone had made him want to throw himself out of the plane.

On the other side of the bathroom door, the team returned to normal. JJ read, Prentiss reviewed the case files, Garcia played what looked to be an intense game on her Nintendo DS, and Gideon, Hotch, and Morgan leaned towards one another so they would not be heard by the others.

"That was definitely a nightmare." Morgan spoke, meeting Hotch's eyes.

"Or a flashback," Gideon suggested, remembering his own far too well.

"Maybe he needs to be pulled off the case…" Hotch contemplated to the other two men. Morgan nodded no forcefully.

"No, keep him on. I'm going to keep an eye on him. Taking Reid off the case will make things worse. If anything, he needs some kind of structure and distraction right now." Gideon agreed with Morgan, nodding his head and leaning back in his own seat. He folded his arms across his chest to symbolize he was done with the conversation.

"Are you sure about this, Morgan?" Hotch questioned.

"Absolutely." Morgan's voice was firm, and Hotch gave him a slight nod of the head. He'd have to trust Morgan on this one, but he couldn't help but feel that maybe the talk he had given his team that morning had gone too far. Was it an invasion of privacy? But, as Hotch evaluated the set, concerned look lining Morgan's face, he knew that it had been the right thing to do. This wasn't just anyone-it was Reid. If anything, Morgan could serve as a catalyst for help and recovery. When he agreed and Morgan leaned back in his own seat, he tried to ignore the feeling that the right thing did not feel very right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the support, comments, adds, etc. Please let me know what you think. :) Enjoy!**

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"_I've come down with something. I'm frozen, tied up, cast in led. 'It's simple,' says the captain. 'Face forward, move slow, forge ahead.'"-Guster "The Captain"_

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The sunlight spilled downward, illuminating the largest grave, which was more accurately a statue of an angel with her arms outstretched towards the sky. It cast an impressive shadow onto the ground that the three agents passed under as they made their way down the steep hill towards the crime scene. The yellow tape was visible, and Reid wished they'd get there soon. The minute Hotch had pulled into the lot by the equally old church, Reid's stomach turned. Seeing the crime scene photos was one thing, but actually visiting the cemetery was another. Unfortunately, their unsub had given them no choice, as he preferred to murder in the very places his victims would be buried.

The graves in the cemetery were in various states of disarray and protruded upwards from the ground at odd angles. A few gnarled oak trees were half colored with radiant colors while the other half was defiantly green. Fall would come soon, but the warm air, green surroundings, and sunshine hinted at a reluctantly exiting summer. Reid found it unfair that JJ and Garcia were working at the town's police headquarters and Gideon and Prentiss had gone to interview the victims' families. He had wanted to start a geographical profile as soon as possible, but Hotch had insisted he come to the scene with Morgan.

Morgan had felt Reid's body tense as they exited the car and began working their way to the scene. Surveying the land in front of them, Morgan could tell why. The cemetery was old, filled with leaves, and was lined on its edges by thick woods. Even Morgan half expected that a cabin would be propped on its border, complete with a thin line of smoke escaping through the small pipe in the roof. He glanced at Hotch, wondering why he had wanted both men at there, but he remained as stoic as ever.

Underneath his usual blank canvas, Hotch felt as though this may have been a very bad idea. After what he had witness on the plane, he wanted to shake Reid up a bit. Not enough to hurt him or cause him any real pain, but, instead, so he and Morgan, who Hotch knew would have a close eye on him, would have a better understanding of whatever was bothering Reid. But, when he looked at Reid's increasingly pale features and shaking hands he was inexpertly trying to hide in his pockets, Hotch wondered if he had taken it too far. _You're the captain, _he told himself. _It's your job to protect and help your team._ He stole a glance at Reid and saw that he had broken out into a thin sweat. _He needs your help. He just can't tell you right now. You're going to help him because that's your job. You're the leader. _Hotch inhaled, feeling as though his confidence booster had not done its job.

Reid felt as though he was boiling on the inside and everything was ready to spill over. When they walked by one grave, he saw a shovel. At another, Tobias stood, waiting, watching him dig. By the time they reached the crime scene underneath a large oak tree, Reid was exhausted. The combination of the scenery and the lack of narcotics in his system made him both lethargic and agitated. Judging from the sideways glances both Morgan and Hotch were sending his way, he figured it was fairly obvious he was uncomfortable. _They think you're sick, _he reminded himself.

"Ok, so I'm the unsub.," Morgan began, positioning himself against a tree. As he moved towards its base accented by a large bloodstain, dried leaves crunched under his shoes. "I've been courting my victims on the internet for a while, but I need to get them alone."

"So how do I do it?" Hotch asked. Reid tried to focus on the two other detectives, but it felt as though thick cotton filled his ears. The tree Morgan was under swayed slightly and a few leaves fluttered downward.

"Well, we know he takes the out to an expensive dinner."

"That doesn't explain how they get here." Reid explained, scratching furiously at his arm. This whole thing felt pointless. He'd be better off alone and working on the geographical profile.

"Well, whenever I have a date with an attractive woman, I want to spend more time with her." When neither agent said anything, Morgan continued as if the answer was carved into the tree's bark. "You know, _alone_ time." Reid rolled his eyes, but Hotch understood.

"So he suggests a walk, possibly a moonlit stroll."

"That would make sense why all the murders happened on full moons." Morgan mentioned, figuring his hunch was their best guess. This case, even with its bloodstains and bodies, was lacking substantial evidence and motive.

"So he tells them that he knows a quiet, romantic spot…" Hotch let the land around him turn to night. He saw the moon bend rays around stone. The cemetery was still and serene-just enough to be romantic with its background melody composed of soft wind and chirping crickets. Above him, the sky filled with stars. Next to him, Reid saw another picture: dark dirt as he threw it aside, certain that he would work too fast and no one would find him on time.

"Why here?" Morgan's question brought Reid out of his daydream and to the very reality that was standing in an old, New England graveyard.

"It's symbolic…" Reid recognized it was own voice speaking. "For whatever reason, the unsub keeps returning to cemeteries," Reid stole a glance around. An equally old church was up the hill to his left and a set of woods stood at the very edge of the property. He supposed there was a cabin somewhere too. "They may have a significant meaning to him. Maybe someone close to him recently died?"

"That certainly would be a stresser that could set him off…" Hotch contemplated. He stole a glance at Reid who seemed to have recovered from his incident on the plane. The younger agent still looked too pale and Hotch noticed that the shaking had traveled from his hands to his whole body as if he was cold, even though the weather was very comfortable.

"He has to restrain him, though." Morgan had bent to the bottom of the tree, running his fingertips over the serrated edges that had been etched into the trunk's base. "Looks like with something strong, like wire." And very rapidly, as if he had been dunked into a winter ocean, Reid felt his whole body go cold.

_The rope on his wrist dug painfully into his flesh. "Please," he heard his begging voice. There was the painful whack of wood against the bottom of his foot. Tobias's gently eyes had shifted to a hardened one, signifying the other personality. He was going to die here. He knew it. It would just be a matter of how long. What if the team didn't find him in time?_

"What do you think, Reid?" Morgan asked. When there was no response, he looked at Hotch, who was watching Reid with a steady look.

Hotch had seen Reid's eyes glaze over and had recognized the vacant expression that overcame his facial features. Hotched watched as Reid's curls shifted slightly in the breeze.

"Reid?" Hotch asked.

"_Choose."_

"_I won't." He braced himself for the shot that somehow didn't come. In his head, he estimates his chances of having an empty chamber for any following shots. He realized that his chances were drastically decreasing._

"He's having a flashback." Hotch told Morgan. Morgan felt goosebumps line his skin. Reid was staring in his direction, but not at him. Morgan would never admit it, but he felt scared and somewhat helpless as he saw the film cover Reid's eyes.

"Hotch?" He asked his boss. Reid could feel his two coworkers standing near him, but when they spoke, it was Tobias's voice he heard.

_"This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins."_

_"I'm not a sinner."_

_"We're all sinners."_

"We took him to a cemetery, Hotch." Ignoring the obvious statement, Hotch placed a firm hand on Reid's shoulder.

"Reid." Hotch couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible. They had all see the crime scene photos. Had they been unaware that the cemetery's presence would be too much? Had his theories sent Reid spiraling back to that night in the woods with Tobias? As suddenly as he left, Reid felt himself return. A cold sweat dripped down his neck and he felt his chest ache for air. He was very aware he was breathing as if he had just completed a marathon.

"I…I'm sorry," Reid heard his own stuttering and felt the deep shame darken his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I must have zoned out there for a minute." He felt the weight of Hotch's hand on his shoulder and he was also aware that Hotch was still surveying him with icy eyes that he only used for interrogations. Looking towards the ground, Reid wished Morgan would look away. He could still feel his breath hitching in his throat.

_What are you doing to yourself, kid? _Morgan thought. Reid was shifting uncomfortably under the severity of the look Hotch was giving him, although Morgan noted that it would probably make anyone uncomfortable. Morgan felt as though he was witness some private affair.

"I'm fine…" Reid tried to throw Hotch's hand off his shoulder, but failed. Hotch knew he was making Reid uneasy with his touch, but from the rapid breaths the boy was taking, he could tell his flashback was still lingering.

"Take deep breaths," Hotch instructed. He was surprised when Reid obediently followed his orders. Reid wished Morgan wasn't watching, but he did what he was told and felt his body relax. "Now, concentrate on something around you. Something that won't disappear." He concentrated on the green blades of grass as they moved in the slight breeze.

"Feel better?" The panic was gone, as was flashback, so Reid nodded yes. The truth was, withdrawals were starting to kick in, and he could feel the pain deep in his stomach. Morgan didn't know what to do or say as he watched Hotch calm Reid down in a stern, yet caring, way. It seemed to him that whatever Reid had just experienced had been deeply painful, and the sadness he saw was etched all over the kid's face. Morgan felt as though he shouldn't be watching this. It was too personal. _If it were me, _he thought, _I wouldn't want anyone to see. _He met Reid's eyes and saw the pleading look. He nodded his head at Reid before he spoke, letting him know he understood his silent request.

"I'm gonna go…over there." Morgan made no attempt to cover up the fact that he, indeed, had nowhere to actually escape. He knew Hotch had questions, and he also knew he was wanted elsewhere when he asked them.

Hotch watched as Morgan trudged halfway up the hill, only stopping to bend down and check a small grave. Whether or not he was really interested in its epithet, Hotch couldn't tell. He let his eyes shift back to Reid, who was still staring at the dead leaves.

"What happened just now, Reid?" Hotch knew to keep his voice soft. The last thing Reid needed was an accusing tone. Reid kicked some leaves before answering.

"Nothing." He knew lying would not work with any of his coworkers, but Reid also knew lying to Hotch was a laughable offense.

"It was very stupid of me to ask you to come here," Hotch shifted his viewpoint, wondering if Reid would figure it out. Fortunately, he did all too well.

"Why? Because this is a cemetery and Hankel tortured me in one?" The eyes the met Hotch's were angry. He blinked at the unexpected furry. "I can still do my job, you know."

"I never said you couldn't, Reid." Who was this angry person standing in front of him?

Reid felt the sudden rage flow through him. _He thinks you're weak. _His inner voice berated. _I can still do my job. I'm good at my job. _He surveyed the woods behind Hotch. In a few weeks, they'd be marked with an onslaught of colors.

"Listen, Reid." Hotch began. "You've been acting off lately." He didn't want to have this conversation here. God, he didn't, but the kid was giving him no choice. Reid felt something stir deep within him. It was large, unidentifiable, and completely too powerful to stop. He heard his heart pounding, felt his palms sweat, and heard the harsh tone he spoke in, but Reid felt unsure if it was his voice that resounded off the surrounding stones and trees.

"No you listen-" Reid interrupted with such spite that Hotch was instantly quiet. "Yes, I was drugged and tortured. Yes, it's affected me, but I am not some invalid. I was late this morning because I overslept and I'm not feeling well," Reid lied. "It does not mean I should be rendered incapable of doing my job." Hotch saw the red cheeks, the burning hazel eyes, and the tightened fists Reid had balled up against his legs. This was not the same agent who had entered the cemetery, but he knew that if he pushed too hard, it would not help. Reid was too smart for that. A little ways up the hill, Morgan looked down on the scene. Reid had been loud, and he had heard enough of the conversation to understand that it had not been going well.

"I see." Hotch spoke deliberately slow. "Then let's go get you started on the geographical profile."

"About time," Reid mumbled under his breath, signaling the end of the conversation by storming up the hill. He didn't slow down once he passed Morgan and old, unmarked graves. He rarely lost control, but he wished he had something to take the edge off. Reaching inside his bag, he felt the vials.

_If I don't get something in me soon to hold off these withdrawals, I'm going to have to take these. _Reid ignored the bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he waited for Hotch and Morgan to meet him at the car. The anger was becoming a sick feeling he recognized all too well. Why had he treated Hotch like that? Taking a deep breath to quell the rising bile, Reid wondered how and why he had been so angry. One minute, he had been reviewing the case. The next, he was with Hankel, and moments later he was yelling at Hotch. _Get a grip, Spencer. _He told himself. _If I were Hotch, I'd doubt your abilities right now too. _Reid felt shame burn his cheeks.

"I'm taking it," Morgan mumbled to Hotch as they made their way to the SVU Reid was fidgeting next to, "that didn't go to well." Hotch sighed.

"I've had more pleasant conversations with Reid." He agreed. "He was genuinely angry with me." Hotch looked at Reid, who was kicking dirt by the car's wheels. From his hunched shoulders and pocketed hands, he could tell that remorse had set in. Whatever furry had taken over Reid, its grip had been fleeting.

"I think this job is all he has left right now," he told Morgan. Underneath them, the ground was beginning to level out. Morgan felt his side ache from the steep assent.

"You were right to keep him on the case, though." Morgan met his boss's eyes for a minute. "He needs us to think he's still capable of doing his job."

"Do you think he is?" Morgan asked the inevitable, ignoring the gnawing doubt in his own stomach.

"I'm not sure." It was the last word said as both men reached the car. The ride back to the station was quiet, as all three men were too lost in their own thoughts to engage the others.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey there readers :). Just a few notes about this addition: the song I use isn't in its correct order. Also, I retrieved statistics and episode quotes from a Google search. Everything else, is my creation. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy!**

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"_It's a highway song. You sing it on and on..." –Blackfoot "Highway Song"_

Reid sat in the backseat of the car while Morgan took the passenger's seat and Hotch the driver's. The agents let the stillness surround them with its calming presence. Reid thought back on the previous hour with Morgan and Hotch. He felt stupid for being affected by the graveyard like he had been, but, he realized, it had been even worse to yell at Hotch. Reid saw Hotch's eyes studying him in the rearview mirror and he shifted his gaze out the window at the passing blurs of trees and houses. _Rates of PTSD symptoms in police forces are four to six times greater than that of the general public, _Reid's brain mocked. _ Approximately 7.7 million American adults have PTSD in one year. _Reid placed his burning forehead against the car window's cool glass in an attempt to stop the relentless wave of statistics playing on repeat in his mind.

In the front seat, Morgan became annoyed by the silence and had yanked the radio dial too forcefully. Guitar riffs blared through the speakers, enveloping the car in a moment of discordant noise. Reid, surprised by the loudness and ferocity of the music, jumped so high that his head smacked the top of the SUV's interior ceiling. Morgan turned the radio dial down to a reasonable volume, but uttered no apology for the intrusion. Reid rubbed the top of his throbbing head. Only Hotch seemed unfazed with steady hands on the wheel. _How is he always so composed? _Morgan asked himself.

White, dashed lines etched the boundaries of Hotch's peripheral vision as he drove on the winding road. The trees by the road had begun to change colors, and Hotch figured in a few weeks they'd be a sea of reds, oranges, and yellows. He wanted to tell Morgan and Reid that he wished they could be there then, to see the foliage at its peak, but the air in the car felt heavy, weighed down by his discussion with Morgan and Reid's outburst in the cemetery. Glancing at the younger agent in the backseat, Hotch could not tell what the boy was thinking, as his gaze seemed to be focused on the outside world in a way that suggested to Hotch that he was neither attentive or interested.

The radio Morgan had turned on a few moments before ended its commercial jingles and an old song came through its speakers. _Well, another day, another dollar_… _Oh, it's my way of living, and I can't change a thing._ Morgan swore Hotch's ears perked. He glanced at his boss, who, apart from his usual unreadable expression, seemed to be listening to the words of the song very intently. Morgan turned his attention to the song too. _ Lord, all this madness ain't as crazy as it seems. Everywhere, they stop and stare. I'm just a stranger on this road._

"I loved this song when I was younger." Hotch told the two men. Morgan nodded, understanding the significance Hotch took from the lyrics. In the backseat, Reid did not acknowledge that Hotch had broken the silence or that he had even heard him do so.

"So you were a rocker?" Morgan asked. Somehow, Morgan could not picture Hotch with long hair and tattoos. Hell, he couldn't even picture him dancing.

"Hardly." The song's notes were escalating into a forte, and Morgan leaned back into his seat, feeling the headrest support his neck. It wasn't his type of music, but it felt oddly comforting to be sitting in a car with Hotch and Reid as 1970s rock blared from the speakers.

Reid pretended he wasn't interested or listening to the song, but, in reality, he was listening closely. He was too young to remember the year the song debuted, but he had realized from the first words that there was some kind of significance to Hotch and, therefore, he wanted to see why. Also, his brain was still rattling off PTSD statistics and Reid needed a distraction. _Well, the hurt you leave behind, it's the hurt that's on your mind. _Reid let his brain return to that night in Georgia, and while he had expected to recall something about his time in captivity, he, instead, remembered the hospital he had been forced to go to after everything was over.

* * *

_The lights were white and so bright that they brought tears of pain to his eyes. The sterile smells of antiseptics stung the inside of his nostrils and made his stomach turn. Because it was late, the usual bustle of the ER was replaced by the low lull of monitoring machines and the occasional squawk from the loud speakers, paging a doctor or two to a specific ward. From his position in a triage room, Reid could not even hear approaching sirens from the ambulance bay outside._

_Under the examining room's harsh fluorescent lighting, Reid studied the soil caked under his fingernails. His arms were marked with smudges of dirt, sweat, and track marks where Tobias had injected the narcotics into his system. Reid wondered how disheveled the rest of his appearance looked. He had passed an EKG and received an X-ray, and now the nurse was bandaging his foot, giving him care instructions. Reid heard her voice, but it felt as though she was far away, floating somewhere between the time before and the time after his ordeal._

_Reid remembered that she had told him to take it easy in a soft, southern drawl. He had felt as though things were moving in slow motion. He could see her blue scrubs, her white shoes, and the way her ponytail swayed from side to side as she helped him off the examining table to his feet. His foot hurt, but he found the pain was bearable. He limped a few paces with her assistance until he felt a familiar strong grip on his arm._

"_I can take it from here," the voice said. "Thank you." The nurse nodded and said her goodbyes with a kiss on Reid's cheek. Reid remembered reaching for the spot with his fingertips, wondering why it, like everything else that night, had slipped away so fast._

"_Reid," he had turned to face Hotch, finding that the hard-set eyes made things come into focus. Around him, the room became clear: the paper-lined rectangular table; the metal cabinet of supplies in the corner; the sink, paper towels, and antibiotic soap in another. Had Hotch been there the whole time?_

"_What happened tonight…" Reid couldn't tell if Hotch was choosing his words carefully or if he was at a loss for words. Although his focus had returned, it still felt slow and hazy. "Was not your fault."_

_Reid's voice sounded dry when he responded. "I know." Hotch had held his gaze for a moment before continuing._

"_I want to make this very clear," he paused for emphasis. Reid waited. "I let you and JJ go to the Hankel farm. What happened once you were there was not anyone's fault. You and I both know Tobias was sick." Reid suddenly remembered JJ, the screams, the gunshots, and the blackness as the cornfield grew dark around him. He nodded because his throat felt constricted. Reid was convinced there was not enough air in the room._

"_I know." Reid averted his eyes, surveying his feet with mild interest. When he tried to limp towards the door, Hotch's grip held him back._

"_Reid," he turned his head to face his superior one again. Reid expected to see the statuesque stare, but was surprised when he saw Hotch's eyes filled with something he could not discern._

"_I also want to let you know…" Now Hotch was the one who avoided eye contact for a brief moment as he blinked rapidly. _

"_I want to let you know that I'm proud of you." Reid remembered he had smiled in spite of the room and the pain coursing through his body. Without another word, they began the slow walk to the waiting room where the rest of the team was stationed._

_

* * *

__  
_Reid bit his bottom lip and pressed his face harder against the car's glass. He could see the police station coming into a blurry view. He swiped at his wet face with his palm, hoping Morgan and Hotch hadn't seen. _Hotch didn't want you to see him cry, _he realized. _That night in the hospital, he was glad you were okay. _Reid didn't know how to deal with the massive force moving inside him.

From the driver's seat, Hotch saw Reid wipe his face with his hands. He wanted to stop the car and talk. He wanted to tell Reid he understood the enormous feelings inside of him. He wanted to tell him that after traumatic events, it took a while before things returned to normal. He remained silent, though, because he knew Reid knew these things too. In fact, Hotch figured, he probably knew more than he did. But Hotch also knew through experience that sometimes knowing isn't everything. Sometimes knowledge keeps you from feelings, hiding everything away until you're plummeting under the guise of "I'm fine." Over the years, Hotch knew his share of sleepless nights, self doubt, and thoughts that constantly circled and looped patterns in your mind until you weren't sure if the situation you lived through was crazy or if you were. _Let us help you, Reid. _He sent the silent message to the agent in the backseat, hoping he'd hear it somehow.

Hotch flipped the directional on, and his own words suddenly floated to the forefront: _You know I always take advantage of Reid for his brain, but I never actually teach him how to deal with things emotionally. _Stealing another look at Reid, Hotch watched the way the boy fought tears with a resolute stare at his surroundings through the car's window. A few parking sports away, Hotch saw Gideon and Prentiss exiting their vehicle. _You have a case to solve, _he reminded himself. He sent the car into an empty parking spot, and the three agents listened to the song for a few moments before Hotch turned the key in the car's ignition, signifying the end of their ride.


	7. Chapter 7

**I apologize in advance for the filler chapter...**

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"_I feel so blind to what you're saying. And if I don't need your help, just say it."-State Radio "Calvado's Chopper"_

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_

"Well, that was interesting." Prentiss told Gideon as they entered the police station after interviewing the victim's mother.

"That woman," Gideon glanced around at the bustling precinct and uniformed officers. "Was as apeshit nuts as they come." If he hadn't been so right, Prentiss would have laughed at his choice of words. Unfortunately, they had spent a good portion of their time trying to ask question while ducking various household items that the victim's mother had decided to randomly throw in their direction.

"You've got some good reflexes," Gideon mentioned, picking a piece of stray glass off of his shoulder. He figured from its coloring that it had been part of a vase.

"You're not so bad yourself," Prentiss said as the two entered the room where Garcia was feverishly attempting to hack away at the unsubs' laptops. Annoyed from being removed from the comfort of her office and the complexity of the unsub's system, she exerted a "fuck off" vibe that was recognizable to both agents. From her paperwork at a nearby table, JJ's eyes issued a warning.

"How'd it go?" She asked, grateful to have company other than the fire breathing beast she knew as Garcia.

"It went…" Prentiss met Gideon's eyes. "Put it like this, I know why the victim left home the minute she turned 18." JJ's eyes grew wide.

"This," Gideon placed the piece of glass down on the table in front of JJ. "Is from a vase she threw at us."

"This case-" JJ began, but was interrupted by a growl from Garcia, who finished JJ's sentence for her.

"Is not going to be anywhere close to solved if you three don't shut up while I work." An immediate silence was followed by the sound of furious fingers slamming against computer keys. Gideon held his hands up in mock surrender.

"How-" Hotch began asking how the interview went when he, Morgan, and Reid walked into the room, but Prentiss's flailing arms silenced him. With raised eyebrows, he watched Prentiss nod her head in Garcia's direction. He saw her hunched shoulders and heard her muttering as a few choice phrases floated his ways. Reid sunk into a chair, closing his eyes and attempting to overcome the pain that was tying knots in his stomach.

"Garcia," Hotch began in a tone that suggested she needed to pay attention. For a moment, she stopped, sighed, and then spun to face the group. Her cheeks were pink with frustration.

"How'd the interview go?" He asked Gideon. He turned to Prentiss, who shrugged.

"If you consider irrational outbursts followed by flying household appliances and objects as going well, then it went beautifully." A bit taken back, Hotch nodded. Morgan chuckled.

"That woman should be institutionalized," Gideon told Hotch knowingly. Only Garcia noticed how Reid's body tightened.

"The graveyard didn't go much better, although we think he's killing on moonlit nights to set an ambiance." Morgan explained. Reid held his breath for a moment, wondering if Morgan or Hotch would also explain his flashback. He could already hear their voices:

"_Reid lost his shit", Morgan would say._

"_Yeah, you all should have seen him," Hotch would mock. "He was out of it." The team would laugh, and Reid's cheeks would burn._

"_Looks like boy genius shouldn't be an agent anymore-"_

Reid was brought out of his delusion by Hotch addressing him.

"Sorry-what?" He asked, looking into the stern eyes.

"You're going to stay here with Garcia. Start the geographical profile." Reid nodded, noticing how Hotch kept eye contact a bit longer than necessary before addressing the rest of the team.

"JJ, I need you to talk to the media. Find out the information they've released and prepare for a press conference." She shook her head in agreement, already gathering papers.

"The rest of us will be searching the unsub's home for anything we may have missed." Prentiss did not look excited at the prospect, but rose to her feet nonetheless.

"Garcia, keep at it with the computers. It was how he found his victims. There has to be something there." A grunt, and Garcia swiveled back around to face the screens, but Hotch continued. "Take a break first." He heard her sigh and reluctantly spin back around.

"What if we don't get any leads?" Morgan asked the inevitable. "So far, the unsub's nowhere to be found and all we have is a crime scene, computers, his empty home-" Morgan was interrupted by Hotch.

"There's still the lab. They have the DNA from the murders." The team didn't like the prospect of not figuring out a profile, but sometimes they had no other choice. Hotch's team looked as tired as he felt.

"Everyone, take a" Hotch glanced at his wrist watch. "Ten minute break."

"Come on, Sugar." Morgan grinned at the fuming Garcia. "I saw some donuts with our name on them." He held out his left arm at a triangular angle, inviting her to take it as if he were leading her to a ballroom floor and not a kitchen of a police station. Garcia nodded, feeling her bad mood leave her. The two strolled out of the room with an air of grandness. Gideon shook his head from side to side in bewilderment.

"I'm going for a walk," He commented to no one in particular, rising from his chair and exiting the room. Prentiss thought she'd like to go with him, but his tone didn't sound inviting.

"Anyone want any coffee?" JJ asked. Prentiss shook her head no.

"I do. Actually, I'll go with you." Hotch thought coffee sounded amazing. Without realizing it, both agents turned towards Reid.

"What?" He asked, feeling very much like he was on display.

"Coffee?" JJ asked again.

"No thanks." Reid said as a bitter tasted lined the back of his throat. Hotch and JJ made no attempts to hide their surprise. Prentiss toyed with her phone for a few moments, watching Reid as he closed his eyes and remained unmoving in his chair.

Reid heard everyone leave and judging from the quiet of the room, he figured he was alone. It took all he had not to fall out of his seat with Prentiss spoke.

"Still not feeling well?" She asked. Earlier, on their way to interview the mother from hell, when Gideon had tried to shove some theory on her about Reid's sickly appearance and out of character behavior, she had told him if the kid said he was sick, then he was sick. Now, sitting across from a pale, shaking, closed-eyed Reid, Prentiss couldn't shake the feeling that something else was definitely happening to the youngest member of the team.

"Yeah." Reid did not open his eyes.

"You need anything?" She asked. _Drugs, _Reid immediately thought.

"No thanks."

"Hey Reid?" She asked. He opened his eyes to glare in her direction. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you need anything." For a minute, Reid didn't know what to say. Was his discomfort that obvious? _You're losing your composure, _he thought. He wanted to retaliate with angry words about how Prentiss, and everyone else, should leave him alone, but his temper seemed to have been left i behind in the cemetery.

"Thanks, Emily." He used her first name to show her he understood and was sincerely thankful. Reid closed his eyes again when he saw her look of curiosity and concern.

Prentiss wanted to ask him more, but Reid kept his eyes shut. Figuring she would take a walk to give Reid some time to himself, Prentiss left the room, ignoring that feeling that she had missed something she should have seen.


	8. Chapter 8

**And the plot thickens... **

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"_Yes, it's all disappearing, and we should all just go along. And all would be so easy if I could say 'let it be,' but that's not me." –Third Eye Blind "Sharp Knife"_

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_

Gideon walked the perimeter of the small, brick police station. In the distance, blue mountains surrounded the town, forming a visible barrier from it and the outside world. Through the lot scattered with police cruisers and other vehicles, Gideon spotted patches of green at the edges of the cement. He saw a red picnic table stationed under a large tree and he headed towards it with no real purpose in mind. The air was kissed with summer, the sky was cloudless, and Gideon could not figure out why he felt so uneasy. Granted, the case was becoming a series of dead ends, and a crazy woman had thrown sharp, breakable objects at him, but those events were minimal in comparison to the anxiety his job usually created and caused.

He sat on the wooden table, noticing it was on uneven ground and tipped to the side with the most weight. The tree next to him was old, that much was obvious to Gideon, and he when he leaned in for a closer look at its unique markings, he realized officers had carved their initials and years of service into its bark. Out of habit, he ran his fingertips over the lines and wondered about what he was seeing. _T.K '35-'40. _Gideon figured World War II had taken that officer away forever. His heart began to race, and he turned his attention away from the tree.

A black ashtray was in the middle of the table, and, judging from the half full contents, he figured the cops smoked here, furthest away from the doors so their secondhand smoke would not bother anyone else. When he heard a noise in the distance, Gideon turned his head in the direction of the police station and watched as the familiar silhouette approached him.

"Hey," The table shifted again when Prentiss sat on its opposite side. Gideon noticed that her usually dark hair looked lighter in the sunlight.

"It's nice out here." Gideon thought his _"I'm going for a walk"_ hadn't been an open invitation, but he found that he didn't mind her company.

"The officers carve their names into this tree," he commented. Gideon watched as Prentiss's eyes scanned the bark, reading the initials and years, but not too closely. For a moment, Gideon thought Prentiss wanted to say something, but she remained quiet. _She wants to tell me something, _he rationalized. _But she's afraid. _Knowing she'd speak soon, Gideon waited. _I have all day, Prentiss_, he smiled to himself. _I can out-silence anyone._ _Well, except for Hotch._ As if she was aware of the older agent's thoughts, Prentiss felt as though she couldn't take the stillness anymore, even with the chirping birds and distant sound of the highway.

"Reid looks like crap." Gideon had not expected this, and he wondered if his face had shown any surprise. _She noticed too, _he realized.

"You think he's sick?" Gideon remembered her words in the car. _If he's sick, he's sick. _He had thought then that she could possibly be right, but the kid looked drained when he returned with Hotch and Morgan. On his face he wore an expression Gideon understood, but couldn't place.

"I think," Prentiss flicked some of nail polish off her thumb, "he may be dealing with something else."

"What do you think's bothering him?" He asked, figuring her guess was as good as his. He knew it was the Hankel case, but he also felt there was something else. Something much larger was surfacing, peeking its way out after a long period of secrecy.

"Besides the Hankel case?" She asked, eying her superior for a moment to see if he thought the same. She waited to speak until she saw his eyes flash with recognition.

"I'm not sure. I thought you would know." Prentiss admitted, feeling her cheeks warm. As a profiler, it felt inadequate that she could not pinpoint Reid's problem. However, Reid knew how to hide things from his team. They all did. Gideon shrugged, spinning the ashtray absentmindedly.

"I wish I did," he acknowledged defeat too. Overhead, the tree branches swayed. Prentiss watched a leaf flutter downward, shifting side to side before it landed on the table between she and Gideon.

"Hey guys!" A faint yelling startled both agents, and Gideon and Prentiss towards their attention towards the police station. At the lot's edge, the agents saw Morgan's waving to them from the side of the SUV.

"We should get going," Prentiss remarked. Hotch was making his way towards the driver's side.

"You smoke?" She asked Gideon as they walked towards the car.

"What?" He asked somewhat confused as to the sudden change in conversation.

"The ashtray?" She pointed out. She could see from the way his face broke that he understood.

"Not for a long time." They were almost at the SUV. Morgan was already in the backseat, saving the passenger's seat for Gideon. Prentiss smiled at the thought of Hotch insisting Gideon sit in the front with him.

"I used to too," she admitted. "But I stopped. It's a gross habit." While Prentiss opened the car door and climbed in, Gideon froze. Although the air was warm, he felt his whole body become cold.

"Habit…" he mumbled to himself, and, then, it was as if the pieces finally came together in series of flashing images: _Reid running into the BAU because he was late for work; Reid jumping when JJ touched his arm; Reid's pale features and shaking hands; Reid not paying attention to Hotch's instructions ten minutes prior; Reid on the video camera, crying as Hankel raised the wood slab overhead; Reid on the plane, his face contorted with memories and nightmares._

"Habit…" Gideon said, but this time everyone heard. Prentiss and Morgan exchanged confused looks in the backseat. From his position behind the steering wheel, Hotch saw Gideon's face melt into a form he knew too well. _He's figured something out, _he realized. _But it's not about the case. If it was, he'd be jumping in here, talking so fast we'd have to tell him to slow down so we could understand. _Gideon remained standing outside the car. _It's something he thinks he should have figured out a long time ago, _Hotch recognized.

_Oh God, Reid. Not-_but Gideon's thoughts were interrupted by Hotch.

"Are you alright?" He looked at Hotch and silently screamed _Reid's addicted to drugs! _The thought turned his stomach. Hotch made no expression signaling he understood.

"Are you coming?" Morgan asked, unsure of what, exactly, was going on. Gideon was looking at Hotch, who was staring back, as if they were having some private conversation with their eyes. The passenger side door was still open, and Gideon was making no attempt to move into his seat.

"Jason-"Hotch began, but he was interrupted when Gideon jumped to life as if shocked by some unforeseen electrical current.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Gideon climbed into the car, avoiding Hotch's eyes.

Hotch intuitively knew that Gideon had become aware of something. Behind the man's eyes, a shift had taken form, but Hotch saw that whatever it was, Gideon feared it. As he drove, Hotch attempted to decode the message he knew Gideon had been trying to tell him, but he realized that it could be anything about anyone, although he knew it was probably about Reid. The man saw Reid as his protégé, and it was only natural that he was worried about his sickly appearance and erratic behavior. _I'm concerned too, _Hotch thought, wishing he could say the words aloud to the car's occupants.

"What was that all about?" Morgan whispered to Prentiss as he shifted his eyes towards Hotch and Gideon and then back towards the backseat. She shrugged.

"No idea. We were talking about how we both used to smoke cigarettes and then he just did that…"

"You smoked?" Morgan asked.

"I was a bit of a rebellious teenager," she explained with a grin. Morgan leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery pass by.

Morgan also knew the look that had lined Gideon's face. It was the same look he had when he cracked a case or a profile, but, this time, he wasn't spewing incomprehensible theories to the car's occupants. Morgan looked at Gideon, who was looking out the window in a way that suggested to Morgan that his mind was elsewhere and the window was an outward distraction. _Reid, _he thought as the car turned onto the unsub's street. _I need to figure out what's up with the kid, _Morgan vowed, glancing at his phone to see if Garcia had texted him any updates. They had only been gone twenty minutes, so he was not surprised when his screen did not have a flashing text message alert.

"Alright, everyone know the plan?" Hotch asked as they unloaded onto the driveway. The team didn't respond, so Hotch took that as a collective "yes" and they began to walk up the brick path leading to the front door that had been sealed with familiar yellow evidence tape.

"Why do I feel like it's going to be messy?" Prentiss asked no one in particular. The three men shrugged. When the door opened, they saw that she was correct: the floor was littered with empty soda cans, clothes, and papers from various books and magazines. The hallway leading to the kitchen had a number of mismatched boots and shoes and, from their vantage point at the front door, the team could make out a sink full of what they presumed to be dirty, moldy dishes.

"I hate when I'm right," she mumbled, stepping over a construction hat and two half-eaten burritos.

"Ugh, and it smells too!" They heard her whine from the inside. Morgan sent a pleading look towards Hotch.

"If she has to go in there, we all do." He responded. Sighing, Morgan stepped inside to join his coworker. Just as Hotch was going to follow, he felt a pull on his arm.

"Later," Gideon grabbed Hotch's suit sleeve. "I need to talk to you."

"Alright. Right now-" Hotch began.

"We have a case." The men locked eyes for a moment before heading inside.

_Do your job__, _Gideon told himself. _Right now, you have to wait. For now, it will have to wait._


	9. Chapter 9

**This is a bit of a filler chapter, but, trust me, there's some definite plot movement coming up. Thanks for all the insightful reviews and adds. I really appreciate it. :)

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"_My words confuse you. My eyes don't move a blink cause it's easier sometimes not to be sincere. Somehow, I make you believe. When I speak, I cross my fingers. Will you know you've been deceived? I find the need to be the demon. A demon cannot be hurt."-Guster "Demons_

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The room given to them by the town's police department was small, and Reid set up on a tiny wooden table while Garcia tapped away in the corner closest to the window. Reid was glad the team had left him behind. After the scene in the graveyard, didn't feel like being around people much, and he counted on the geographical profile to distract him. He could tell his body was fighting withdrawals by the way his hands shook and his stomach made him double over in pain. _You're not that addicted, are you? _He asked himself, knowing the answer anyway.

"You alright?" Garcia had heard Reid's groan before she turned away from her computer screen to face him. She was surprised to see him bent over, clutching his stomach, with a slight tinge of green outlining his thin features. Although she wasn't close to Reid, she could see the beads of sweat sliding down his face. The room was heavily air conditioned, and she knew he must not be feeling well if he was hot. She had been so cold that she had on a sweater only suitable for the dead of winter.

"Reid, you're burning up." Reid registered that it was her cold hands on his clammy skin. He recoiled from her touch, but didn't push her away because her fingertips felt soothing against his hot cheek.

"I told you," he stomach surged again and, for a moment, he wondered if he'd be sick. "I don't feel well."

"Ok, well let's see if I can help you out." Reid was too tired to protest, and he slumped into a vacant chair. He watched Garcia march out of the room into the area buzzing with the town's police officers. Through the window that separated their room from the main one, he saw her speak to one of the officers, occasionally gesturing his way with bright fingernails. The officer nodded, said something he couldn't hear, and he and Garcia disappeared from view. When she returned, she was holding a tall glass of water and a bottle of Dayquil.

"This is all I could find, boy genius." He gave her a small smile.

"Thanks, Garcia." Reid tried to make his voice appear genuine, but he wondered if she could hear the lie etched within. He took the Dayquil, swallowing two capfuls with the glass of water.

"Officer Larkin said you could have that," she remarked, sitting down at her computer once again. Reid nodded and, when she left a half hour later to go to the bathroom, he drank half of the bottle. _If only she knew, _he thought to himself for the second time that day.

After the a while, the drugs took hold and he felt well enough to continue his work. Once or twice, he felt Garcia watching him with concern. Reid tried to shake the feeling that he was actually the one under investigation. _Maybe if you can figure this out, _his brain began. _Then you can make up for those stupid scenes on the plane and in the cemetery. _With this determination, Reid dove into his work.

The day enveloped him in a haze. Trying to develop a geographical profile seemed as foreign to him as having a conversation with a pretty woman. The lines and red dots blurred together, mixing into the barrel of a gun that was pointed directly at his forehead. "_Choose."_ The voice beckoned. Reid realized he finally knew what his mother dealt with on a daily basis.

"Reid, why don't you take a break?" Garcia suggest for the third time in an hour after Reid had sworn loudly at the scattered dots. She didn't like that Reid looked unwell and although it seemed like the medicine had helped, his hands were still shaking and his face was still pale and accented with faint traces of green.

"I'm fine, Garcia."

"You-"

"Look, I can't think ok? I have to do my job and if you don't shut up, I can't do it." Reid immediately regretted his words and his second outburst of the day, but he turned away from Garcia's shocked eyes. Garcia stared at Reid's back in disbelief.

"_Hey, Baby Girl," Morgan pulled her aside while the team prepared to part ways. _

"_Yes, Sugar?" She asked, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. For once, Morgan didn't smile at her antics._

"_Reid's not feeling well…" He stole a glance at the detective and Garcia nodded. "Can you keep me updated on how he is today? You're going to be the only one with him."_

"_Like Hotch asked us to do?" Morgan nodded._

"_Yeah, like that." Garcia stared at her purse. She didn't like playing spy, especially on a coworker, but Morgan always had good reasons for asking her to do things. Reid had been acting weird too. So much so that both Hotch and Morgan had addressed their concern. Resolute, she looked up from her clutch._

"_Sure thing, sweet cheeks." This time, Morgan smiled briefly before turning away. _

Garcia thought about her earlier conversation with Morgan. She had felt that something was off, but now, with Reid's sudden outburst, her mind began to place the pieces together. He had been late to work, jumpy, sickly, and apparently irritable. Hotch had addressed the team about Reid before they left. Morgan wanted her to keep an eye on him when he couldn't? She watched Reid for a moment as he shook his head and yanked a few pins off the cork board. Strays pinged off the floor and she heard him mumble another swear under his breath. He couldn't do his work? Since when did his brilliant mind fail? Garcia herself had seen him think and find results under dire instances. _This isn't adding up, _she thought to herself. _Something isn't right. _Garcia waited until Reid barged out of the room to pick up her phone to text Morgan about the day's events. Clearly, something was very wrong.

When the board in front of him swam together in a jumble of colors, he had let out a frustrated sound and exited the room, stomping around the building until he found a full, newly brewed coffee pot. With the medicine almost out of his system, Reid figured an upper would help. The caffeine only added to his agitation and by the time the rest of the weary, frustrated team returned, Reid felt as though he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Every pore was on fire, his face felt flushed, and he knew he looked as crazed and manic as some of the killers they encountered.

"This case is one dead end after another," Morgan complained aloud, throwing himself into the nearest chair. Rubbing his tired eyes, he glanced at Reid, who was fidgeting worse than he had on the plane. After the incident in the graveyard, Garcia had been his eyes all day, texting him with updates on Reid's behavior and his, apparently, his rude comments. Morgan felt too exhausted to conceal the fact that he was studying what appeared to be a very restless Spencer Reid.

"All I want to do is shower…" Prentiss told no one in particular as she shuddered. "That unsub may have had the dirtiest home I have ever seen."

"Amen to that," Gideon agreed. He watched Reid shiver and pull his arms around himself.

"The media hasn't released much other than the basics," JJ told everyone. "The press conference was basically a repeat."

"Any leads come from it?" Hotch asked her. JJ shook her head.

"No. The town's people are angry that we haven't found much else than their town police." The team sat in silence for a moment, letting the facts sink in.

"How'd the profile go, Reid?" Hotch turned towards his youngest agent, who, he noted, looked worse than he had earlier. He was pure white, shaking, and sweating to the extent that dark spots were visible on the collar of his shirt. _Maybe he really is sick, _Hotch thought.

"Not well. This unsub is hard to track." Reid did not meet Hotch's eyes, or anyone else's for that matter. In other circumstances, Reid figured he could decode the geographical profile, but with withdrawals setting in, he had been unable to focus. On the board behind Reid, the geographical profile looked disorganized, chaotic, and unfinished. It was unlike Reid's work to be one, never mind all, of those things. Across, the room, Hotch had noticed too, and he caught Morgan's stare for a few moments before turning towards Garcia.

"How about the system?" Hotch turned to Garcia. She nodded no.

"This is one of the most complex systems I've ever seen." The team was silent once more until Hotch spoke.

"Let's call it a night. There's really nothing we can do. Everyone get some food and some rest, and we'll try again around 7 A.M." Hotch rarely admitted defeat, but until the DNA results came back from the lab, they were stuck. He hoped a good night's rest would be the break they needed.

* * *

"Come on, Spence. You're really going to turn down dinner with three women?" JJ taunted. Once at the hotel, the team had parted ways: Hotch had disappeared into his room, Gideon into an internet café, and Morgan mumbled something about the gym. For a moment, Reid had considered saying yes to dining with his female coworkers. The smells wafting into the lobby from the hotel's restaurant seemed inviting, but he wasn't hungry.

"Sorry, JJ. I'm pretty tired. The geographical profile wiped me out." Around him, the hotel seemed to be a cacophony of noise. Reid took a deep breath in order to focus on his coworkers standing in front of him. All he could hear was the screeching classical music playing in the elevator lobby, the loud ding of the elevator button, and the sounds of conversation floating in from the restaurant directly in front of him.

"You sure?" She asked again. Reid nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Alright, girl's night out it is then." She said, turning towards Prentiss and Garcia, who hesitated like she wanted to say something before leaving him between two large potted plants and a display of travel brochures. Reid remembered how he snapped at her and the thought alone almost made him reach out and offer her an apology; instead, he watched their profiles disappear into the restaurant's dimly lit entrance before heading to his own room with a quickening pace that was only slowed once he saw the bar. Hell, he could have one drink, right?


	10. Chapter 10

** Please let me know what you think :) Enjoy!**

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"_There's just a few things coming my way this time around now. Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you fire a rain now."- James Taylor "Fire and Rain"_

_

* * *

_

The hotel's restaurant consisted of clusters of round tables with trim, white tablecloths; large, plush chairs; and a series of black and white photographs that showcased the town's history, which dated back to the 1700s.

"I'll bring you some waters and then I'll be back to take your order," the waiter explained after the three women were seated. JJ didn't realize how hungry she was until she was among the delicious aromas.

"Oh my God," exclaimed Prentiss with wild eyes. "I could eat everything on this menu." Across the table, Garcia mumbled something that sounded very distinctly like "skinny bitch." JJ chuckled and gave Garcia a sympathetic smile.

"We really ran around in circles today," Prentiss spoke while sipping the water that had just been placed on the table. JJ nodded in agreement, and Garcia sighed.

"I hope no one recognizes me from the press conference." As she spoke, JJ sunk lower in her chair, pulling her menu upwards to hide her face.

"That bad?" Prentiss asked.

"I honestly thought they were going to revolt. It's hard to explain to the general public that sometimes killers outwit us."

"We still have to get the DNA results back." Prentiss reminded.

"And you're saying you like not nailing a profile?" Garcia asked. Pretniss let her shoulders drop.

"No. That sucks, but sometimes we have no choice." Garcia took a large gulp of water before speaking.

"That unsub, whoever he is, has an amazing system. He keeps reroutting his IP address, and the minute I figure out-" The conversation was interrupted by the waiter and didn't continue until he left with their orders, placing a basket of bread and butter down before returning to the kitchen.

"You know," Prentiss began, watching the butter slide from the knife onto a piece of bread. "I don't think we've ever all had dinner together before." JJ thought for a moment before agreeing.

"Yeah, it's kind of nice having a girl's night."JJ agreed.

"Ladies," Garcia began. "A girl's night needs alcohol, the admittance of embarrassing secrets, and sappy romance movies." The two other two agents couldn't help but smile at Garcia's proposal.

"We should do that when we get back," Pretniss commented.

"I think," JJ began changing the flow of the conversation, "some other things should happen when we get home."

"Like what?" Garcia asked. JJ shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing she hadn't blurted out her true thoughts.

"I think someone needs to help Reid." JJ didn't say how or why she felt this way, but the other two women at the table nodded in agreement.

"It's a shame Reid didn't come. He looks like some food will be good for him." Prentiss suggested. Reid had begun to look alarmingly thin to her.

"Trust me, he is _not_ the person you want to be around today." Prentiss met JJ's eyes before turning to face Garcia.

"What do you mean?" Garcia rolled her eyes and told the two agents about her day with Reid, about how sick he had been, and about his moods.

"Maybe we're all overreacting," JJ contemplated while playing with a coffee creamer. "He could just be sick."

"I dunno, JJ. Something is seriously off with him. He was late today. _Spencer Reid_ was late for work." Prentiss emphasized. "He didn't look good today either." Across the table, JJ began fidgeting with her discarded straw wrapper as she spoke.

"I know Hotch is worried. He wouldn't have addressed the team otherwise."

"I'm kind of worried too." Garcia mentioned, grabbing for another piece of bread.

"And what happened on the plane today?" Prentiss asked the other two women. She didn't tell the others about her brief conversation with Reid earlier today_._

"But this is Reid," JJ argued. "He would tell us, or someone, right?"

"I dunno, JJ..." Prentiss didn't know why, but the word _habit _came to mind.

"Have you even looked at the mess of his geographical profile today?" Garcia didn't mean to gossip or even speak badly about one of her coworkers, but something had gnawed at her since Reid's outburst. She sensed something wasn't right, and hadn't been for a long time. Hotch's words in the conference room earlier that morning and Morgan's request combined with her day with Reid made her intuition perk.

"That's true," JJ admitted "I don't think I've ever seen Reid so disorganized before."

"Or so jumpy and irritable." Prentiss added.

"Do you guys think…" Garcia shifted her weight in her chair. "that he might be in some kind of trouble? He's kind of been like this for a while now…" She didn't have to say since the Hankel case because Prentiss and JJ met eyes again. From their looks, Garcia could tell they knew.

"That was a hard case for everyone," JJ averted meeting both pairs of eyes. _If Reid's in trouble, _her thoughts taunted. _It's your fault._

"I still have nightmares about..." Garcia stopped when goose bumps prickled at her arms. "About how he died and then, you know..." she finished lamely. Prentiss reached across the table and grabbed her hand in a small squeeze.

"I have nightmares about that case too." She met Garcia's wide eyes. Garcia knew the Prentiss rarely admitted the emotional repercussions of cases. To Garcia, Prentiss was a rock that she both admired and feared.

"Did you guys talk to Hotch about Reid too?" Prentiss remembered how she had pulled Hotch aside and mentioned briefly that she was concerned by Reid's jumpiness. She wasn't surprise when both Garcia and JJ nodded, confirming they had too.

"So if we did," JJ gestured at the three women, "then I'm guessing Morgan and Gideon didn't?"

"Morgan did." Garcia explained. "He told me."

"Gideon did too." Prentiss admitted. They sat in silence, pondering the idea that every team member had expressed worry over Reid's behavior.

"I think we should do what Hotch asked this morning." JJ spoke to her empty place setting. "You know, watch Reid closely." Garcia shifted her weight, but couldn't take the pressure anymore.

"Morgan's following him." Garcia blurted out before she could stop herself. "He told me today before you guys all left. I didn't want to say anything because it didn't seem like he wanted anyone else to know. He told Hotch he was going to keep an eye on him." JJ felt somewhat better knowing Morgan was watching over Reid.

"Morgan will figure out how to help him." Prentiss confirmed. She didn't say how relieved she felt when Garcia divulged this information.

"Yeah, you're right," JJ agreed. "If anyone can help him, Morgan can. I think Reid looks to him like an older brother."

"It's a good thing he's not my older brother," Garcia began, changing the conversation. "Because what I would do to him would be sinful." Prentiss nearly spit her water across the table in surprise.

"You know," she said once she had regained composure. "Sometimes, you disturb me on whole new levels."

"My pleasure," Garcia winked and shot Pretniss a wicked grin. JJ found that, in spite of the knots in her stomach, she was, genuinely having a good time. _Morgan's helping Reid, _she reminded herself, ignoring the immediate thought that followed: _You were there, though. You're responsible. You should be helping him too._

"Oh come on," Garcia's playful voice brought JJ back to the dinner table. "You haven't had one indecent thought about Morgan or anyone else on the team?"

"Actually," Prentiss admitted. "I have, but not about Morgan..." She trailed off, clearly embarrassed. Across the table, Garcia seized the opportunity.

"Oh my God, it's his eyes right? Because I've had a dream where he just undressed me with them..."

"Who?" JJ asked, completely unsure of who Garcia was referring to now.

"Hotch." Garcia explained. "Don't you ever wonder what powers those eyes have? I mean, who knows what he's thinking behind those things. He could be undressing us all!" JJ used all her strength not to spit out her water. Reluctantly, Prentiss mumbled an inaudible no. It took a moment for her two dinner companions to understand.

"Oh. My. God." Garcia was shocked. "He could be like your dad's age!" Prentiss felt her face turn a shade of red she previously only associated with burning fires.

"It was just a dream I had once..." she admitted.

"Eww Gideon?" JJ burst into a fit of giggles. She had to admit, she was having fun. It felt good to not be so serious and to laugh. It felt absolutely needed, actually, and JJ welcomed this newfound giddiness into her life. Tomorrow, she'd go back to the case, its atrocities, and the tasks required of her. But, for now, she ignored the guilt she felt concerning Reid and the Hankel case. _Morgan will help, _she reminded herself, turning her attention towards her coworkers, happy for the distraction.

* * *

The sound of typing and the buzzing hum of computer monitors filled the air, and Gideon felt his stomach lurch. He hadn't meant to come here before talking to Hotch, but he had to know if his inkling from earlier was correct. Never mind that after he had said the word "habit," the familiar cold feeling surged through his body. This feeling was usually in connection to a case when his mind put the pieces together and when things finally fell into place. This wasn't how things were supposed to go with anyone in the team, especially Reid. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He thought back to his conversation with Hotch in the hotel lobby:

"_Did you still want to talk to me, Jason?" Gideon met the man's dark, stone eyes. _

"_I do, but later. I need to figure something out first." If Hotch was confused, he didn't show it._

"_Alright, I'll be in my room." Gideon nodded and watched Hotch walk away. When he was sure he was out of sight, he headed towards the internet cafe connected to the hotel's lobby._

The mess of the geographical profile and Reid's sickly coloring had only added to this desire to know, so he had come here searching for answers. But now, he didn't like what he saw on the computer screen. Not Reid. Not anyone on his team, but especially not Reid. Reid was his protégé. _His_ mentee. How could he have failed him so badly?

_The Hankel case. _He thought bitterly. The hopelessness Gideon felt returned and he let his mind drift back to the case and the feelings that had overcome him that night. He remembered being afraid that Reid, even before it was over, would blame himself. Gideon's own words came back to him: _Reid, if you're watching, you are not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you._ He had been so sure then that Reid had understood. He had, hadn't he? Shaking his head at the screen's words, Gideon realized he was the one who actually didn't understand.

_Signs and Symptoms of Narcotic Abuse._

Gideon hit print, wishing things had not been this way. _I failed you Reid, _he thought. _I failed you miserably. _

_

* * *

_

Hotch wasn't sleeping when he heard three soft knocks on his hotel room door. He had turned on ESPN, zoning out in front of the baseball highlights in the the same way his father had when he was a child. He muted the television show and headed towards the door. _I was resting my eyes, _he explained to the accusing empty room.

"I need to talk to you." Gideon barreled in, growling his request. In his left hand, he gripped a sheet of paper. Hotch barely had the door closed when Gideon shoved the paper at him.

"Read this." He scanned the sheet that detailed the signs and symptoms of narcotic abuse. _This is why he was mumbling about a habit today, _Hotch thought back to the scene in the police station's parking lot.

"Is this about the case?" he asked. "The victim didn't have signs of drug abuse." Gideon shook his head before speaking in a tone so flat it made the hair on Hotch's uncovered arms prickle.

"Reid." Hotch turned his eyes towards the paper once more. _Irritability, anxiousness, excessive sweating, insomnia, weight loss, poor decision making, confusion, stomach pains…"_

"You think Reid's addicted to narcotics?" Already, his mind was flashing to the night of the Hankel case. It was followed by scenes from the plane ride, Reid's graveyard flashback, and his chaotically mapped geographical profile.

"I know he is." Hotch sighed at Gideon's resoluteness, running his hand through his hair.

"It makes sense..." He agreed. _It makes too much sense, _his mind taunted.

"I think that the Hankel case did it to him. It set him off." Gideon couldn't stand still. The weight of the discovery felt too heavy to carry, and he paced the room as he spoke. "We have to do something."

"I agree, but now's not the time."

"When's the right time then?" Gideon argued. "Because it sure as hell seems like too much time has already passed. You and I both know this is going to get worse if we let it go." Hotch sighed, thinking for a moment about how to explain his reasoning.

"We have to finish the case, but Morgan's watching him for now." Seeing Gideon's look of disagreement, Hotch sighed. "We have a case" From a professional standpoint, he was right; however, Hotch disagreed. _There's always a case, _he thought bitterly. _We should have done something sooner._

"Jason, we know Reid is smart." Gideon rolled his eyes. "He's too smart. Yes, he's been hiding this from us, but he probably doesn't realize that his composure's crumbling right now." Gideon could tell Hotch was correct by the way his stomach tightened.

"So you're saying, if I understand you right, to let him fall apart?" He asked.

"That's exactly what I mean. You saw him today," Hotch explained. "He's on the edge, he knows it, and he knows we're all worried." Gideon nodded, beginning to understand Hotch's point.

"He knows, whether consciously or subconsciously, we'll intervene."

"Exactly, and, although Reid trusts you and everyone on the team, he confides in Morgan. He always has." Gideon nodded again, realizing the reality of the situation.

"We have to trust Morgan to get through to him, Jason." Hotch spoke softly, allowing his own concern to line the edges of his words. He rarely let his emotions show, but he had to make Jason understand that he was worried too, but he also had faith in the connection the team had with one another. The two men stood in silence as the TV's images flickered low lights off the hotel's white walls.

"If Morgan doesn't get somewhere, Hotch, I will." Hotch met Gideon's eyes and knew there was no way to persuade him otherwise. He could tell that the older man blamed himself, but, in a sense, he understood why Gideon was doing so. Hotch felt the guilty too, and, currently, he was concentrating on making it untraceable so Gideon would not explode to pieces in front of him.

"We'll deal with that when and if the times comes," he reassured him. "But I trust Morgan. If anyone can get through to Reid, it's him." He repeated his belief. Gideon sighed, glancing at the paper Hotch had placed on the bed. Neither man spoke for a few minutes.

"Alright." Gideon consented. "I hope Morgan knows what he's up against."

"He's smart, Jason." Hotch hoped his next words were true. "Morgan will figure it out."

When Gideon left after a mumbled goodbye, Hotch sat on the bed, surveying the two double beds, nightstand, and the TV sports show, which had now changed to the prospects for the upcoming football season. He imagined what would happen if Morgan couldn't help. He'd be the one telling Reid he had been written up and explaining the suspicions both he and the whole team harbored. He knew that his next words after this declaration of mutual concern would mention "rehab", "PTSD", and "time off." In the white walls, Hotch saw Reid's look of horror, anger, and shame. _No, _he thought. _It will not happen that way. _Then Hotch let his mind wander back to what he wished he could not remember:

"_Alright, everybody, right now, what's my worst quality?" He was met with silence. "Okay, I'll start. I have no sense of humor..."  
"You're a bully." JJ added.  
"I'm a bully." He agreed  
"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes." Morgan offered casually.  
"You don't trust women as much as men." Prentiss mentioned. He nodded, agreeing with all of them.  
"Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team because I don't. Ever."_

Hotch remembered how they had rushed to the graveyard, the shot, the dread, and the relief of seeing Reid alive. He had felt the boy's shaking when he grabbed him, spurting words incomprehensibly, but Hotch had understood his insinuated thanks. _I knew you'd understand. _The scene dissipated as Reid's voice rang in his ears, and, when he spoke to the room, he hoped Reid could hear.

"I understood, Reid. I do now too."

* * *

Morgan turned towards the gym, but didn't head towards the locker room. Instead, he stationed himself behind a large potted plant in the central hallway and waited for Reid to walk past. Morgan knew Reid would reject the invite to dinner. He heard the girls say their goodbyes, and he watched Reid speed right past him and down the hall. He kept his distance, ducking unnecessarily into door frames and behind more potted plants. Reid seemed to be on a mission of some sorts, but, whatever it was, he suddenly stopped when he saw the bar. From his vantage point in an adjacent doorway, Morgan saw Reid contemplate going to the bar: he took a step forward, one back to his original position, and then, with a quick glance around that made Morgan flatten himself against the walls, Reid headed inside. _You can't drink on a case, kid. _Morgan told Reid in his mind. When he made his way to the entrance and peered in, he saw Reid sitting at a stool at the bar. He greeted the burly bartender, and waited as he examined his ID. Morgan took this moment of distraction to find a darkened booth in a corner where he could still see Reid.

The dimly lit bar was decorated in dark greens that only accented the fact that the carpet had some mind-bending pattern that would dizzy even a sober person. The decor reminded Morgan of some 1970s movie that was both outdated and tacky. When the bartender left Reid, who thankfully showed no interest in where he was going, Morgan was surprised when he walked over to his table, asking him if he needed anything. In a bind, Morgan ordered a Coke, and the bartender returned quickly with the sugary drink. Morgan sipped it, feeling the carbonation burn his taste buds. He was a fourth of the way done, and Reid had downed three shots and two drinks. When Morgan was half done, Reid was up to four drinks. As he crunched on ice, Reid had reached an indefinite number. He watched Reid from underneath a swaying yellow lap, and with each shot he took and each drink he ordered, Morgan felt something like dread rise in him. When, exactly, could Reid drink this well? After a while, Reid began tipping in his seat and although Morgan could not hear the discussion Reid was having with the bartender, he saw that his drink orders were slowing down. Either Reid was drunk enough or the bartender had decided to stop serving him. _Show time, _Morgan thought as he leaned back against the plastic-covered cushion and waited for the right time to intervene.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone. I really want to thank everyone for the adds, support, messages, and reviews. Because I'm new to the show and feel as though not all the characters are easy to write, I really appreciate all the comments and help. :) This next chapter is part one of many dialogues yet to come, including a rather important one for Reid...**

**And, because this is not being edited by anyone and because I always miss stupid typos and mistakes, I apologize for any mistakes. I try, but somehow always miss a few here and there. Thanks for being understanding.**

**Enjoy :)  
**

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"_There's a blaze of light in every word. It doesn't matter which you heard-the holy or the broken hallelujah. I did my best. It wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth. I didn't come to fool you. And even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my tongue but a broken hallelujah"-Leonard Cohen "Hallelujah"_

_

* * *

_

Reid knew he couldn't drink on assignment, but he also knew one drink had never led to many. Not for him, anyway, and especially not after last night. After his second, Reid had decided he needed one more. His body was tired, and one more drink might help him sleep. Maybe then, nightmares wouldn't work their way in. He added a few shots in there too-just in case. So when two drinks became four and Reid lost count somewhere around six drinks, he realized his lips were numb and he was not happy or at ease. This was not the same as a narcotic that sent oblivion to each one of his muscles. Narcotics made him float on clouds, and alcohol made him want to sleep forever.

"Something on your mind, kid?"The bar was quiet, and the bartender surveyed the almost empty room. A young couple sat in one corner, a man in a dark booth in the adjacent corner, and the kid at the bar. He had surveyed his ID so closely that the kid had flourished a FBI identification, which had startled the bartender. He had served time once, many years prior, for a stupid, drunken teenage prank gone wrong.

"I messed up today," the young man swung his head back, effortlessly downing a shot of potent liquid. He placed the glass down with shaking hands, and then returned to his whiskey.

"You have a case?" Reid shrugged at the question.

"I sucked today," the bartender felt sympathy for the skinny kid sitting in front of him. "I see him everywhere." Reid referred to his flashback, unaware of how incoherent he sounded.

"Do you know how you're better at some things than others?" The bartender nodded at the question while keeping his hands busy. Over the years, he learned to pay attention, but he always heard the best stories and confessions when he looked just interested enough. Usually, he let the drunks unload whatever it is they needed to, but he was curious-what would a FBI agent reveal?

"Well, I know I'm good at some things," the kid met his eyes with eyes that were a hazel mixture, "but I can't do it lately. It's a mess." Reid stopped to think. "I'm a mess."

"What changed?" The bartender asked, placing a few glasses on the shelf underneath the bar.

"Me...the job..." The kid's shoulders sagged forward. "Both I guess." They were silent for a moment until the kid spoke again.

"I fuck up all the time now." Reid said to the pine counter. The bartender placed another clean glass on the shelf, unsure if he was being spoken to or not.

"I'm sure you don't mess up all the time," the bartender suggested. "I'm sure you're good at something." In a weird way, he wanted the kid to feel better. He looked so dejected.

"I am a sinner." Reid slurred.

"Aint we all." The bartender chuckled. But the young man in front of him shook his head violently, as if his first statement was not the point he was trying to make.

"He told me to confess _my_ sins."

"What did you say?" The bartender had heard quite a few drunken admissions before, but there was something about the way this young man hunched onto the counter and didn't allow himself to sit still that suggested he was under the weight of something too large to carry. Reid felt himself tip to one side, but caught his body before it fell to the ground. _No more drinks for this guy, _the bartender thought.

"Easy there, kid." The bartender warned. The young agent swayed again, but didn't look like he was in danger of falling. Wanting to change the conversation, the bartender let curiosity lead when he spoke again.

"What do you do for the FBI?" He wondered if he would actually be told the truth.

"I'm a profiler." When the bartender looked confused, Reid continued. "I figure out the bad guys." As he said this, he laughed a little.

"Like their behavior?" The bartender felt the sweat form on his upper brow. The kid met his eyes for a moment before speaking in slurred wording.

"You're nervous. I can tell because you're sweating." He sucked down part of his drink before continuing. "You've been in trouble before. Nothing too major, but enough to make you anxious because you know I'm an agent."

"What the..." the bartender trailed off, but Reid wasn't finished.

"You use this job as some kind of penance. My guess is you committed a crime when you were young, my age or younger maybe. You were drunk then, and now you sit here, feeding other alcoholics, and listening to their crap as a way to make up for whatever you did a long time ago." Reid hiccuped into his glass.

"Oh yeah?" It was the only challenge the bartender could muster. So far, the kid was three for three.

"And you're a recovering alcoholic. My guess is you lost everything-family, friends, wife or fiancé maybe?" Reid surveyed the heavier older man whose eyes were growing angrier with each word, "and this bar, ironically, keeps you sober. You need to be around alcohol because enabling other alcoholics makes you feel superior. You think you're better because you're not drinking. This is a game to you. How drunk can you let others get?" Reid met his eyes before laying the final blow, wondering how far he could push. "But you want to drink very badly. You long for it, crave it, but you can't actually have it."

"That's bullshit." The bartender clenched his fists together in order to contain himself. Who the hell was this kid? Was he really that obvious?

"If it was," Reid studied the empty glasses lined in a neat row on the counter in front of him "You would have stopped serving me hours ago. You and I both know I'm tanked, but this is making you feel too good." Reid could not understand why this was so funny as he laughed out loud "you like being in control right now, especially because I'm an agent and I'm younger."

"You're a-" Reid figured the bartender was either going to call him a piece of excrement or he was going to punch him, but he wasn't done just yet.

"So, am I right?" He dared. "Do you feel superior now?" From the immediate silence that followed, Reid knew, even in his stilted state, that his profile was correct.

"I think it's time for you to go." the bartender spoke after a thick moment.

"I'd like another drink."

"You're done. Go. Now." The bartender's knuckles turned white from his tight grip on the counter. Reid stood, feeling the ground heave underneath him.

"That might not be a good idea." Reid told him. Across the room, Morgan heard the bartender's request for Reid's departure. _What the hell did you say, Reid? _He thought to himself as he hurried to the front of the room.

Just as the bartender was debating whether or not he should call security, the tall, muscular man who had been in a corner booth, appeared at the bar next to the young agent. The bartender met his eye as he nodded at the slumped figure clutching a messenger bag. To the bartender, this man seemed to understand, even though he hadn't said a word.

"Hey Reid," the older agent spoke gently. The bartender saw the way he surveyed the young man with both a protective and concerned look.

"Morgan?" The voice was barely audible. Morgan tried to meet Reid's eyes, but they were swimming and murky, covering any real connection.

"Whatcha doin' here? Wanta drink?" Morgan had never seen Reid so wasted before. The effort to talk and keep his eyes open seemed too garner too much effort for the younger man. Reid drooped forward onto the counter in order to avoid falling. Inside, Morgan felt something like pity start to swell.

"You know, for a smart person, you didn't realize I was sitting in the corner watching you?" Reid didn't answer, turning his attention back to the half-finished drink.

"You in the FBI too?" The bartender asked the muscular man in a tone that suggested Reid had somehow offended him with that knowledge. He glared at the younger agent in disbelief.

"What did you tell him?"

"He didn't believe my ID was real…was me…" Reid burped and tasted some of the alcohol in the back of his throat. "I showed him my FBI one."

"Are you nuts, Reid?"

"I also may have profiled him..." Reid studied the bottom of the glass and spotting more alcohol, tipped it towards his lips with too much force, causing him to fall backwards so forcefully that Morgan had to stop him with his hands.

"Recruits," Morgan smiled apologetically at the bartender who nodded as if he understood completely.

"Recruit? What?"

"Shut up, Reid."

"I have," Reid stopped to count on his fingers, "three doctorates."

"Yeah?" Morgan challenged. "I don't think anyone would believe you right about now."

"I'm smart." Reid told the bartender.

"Right now, you're a moron." The older agent grumbled.

"Did you know that-" but before Reid could go off some drunken tangent, Morgan placed a hand under each of Reid's armpit, hoisting him upwards.

"That's nice, Reid." He mumbled, giving the bartender a look that bordered on an apology. With one fluid motion, Morgan placed some cash onto the bar. Reid tried to finish his drink and some of the amber contents dribbled onto his shirt as he swayed from one side to the next.

"We should do this more often." Reid told Morgan as he swung an arm around Reid's waist. When on earth had the kid gotten so skinny?

"Do what, Reid?" Morgan questioned. "Have me help you home because you're shitfaced?"

"Nooooo" Reid emphasized the vowels, laughing at his own wit. _God, I wish someone else was here to see this, _Morgan thought in spite of himself and the situation.

"I mean..." Reid seemed to be having a hard time with words. "Like us...the team...we should..." he hiccuped again.

"Go out?" Morgan offered, trying to move Reid forward. He didn't budge.

"Yes!" Reid shouted so loudly that the bartender jumped and glared at the two agents. Morgan sent another apologetic look in his direction.

"I'll let them team know." Morgan lied, although something told them that drunk Reid would probably be entertaining for everyone if the circumstances were different.

"Hotch, Garcia, Gideon, JJ, Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid" Reid listed off the team as if he needed to keep their names straight.

"I swear, Reid." Morgan shook his head in disbelief. "You're the only drunk I know who can put things into alphabetical order. You'd pass that part of the drunk test..." He commented with a certain amount of awe.

"I couldn't pick one of them." Reid moved his head from side to side, enjoying how the earth merged into a solid formation. Something in Morgan's stomach tightened. Reid tilted dangerously to one side.

"We knew you couldn't." Morgan caught Reid with one arm, realizing how light his body felt. Usually, drunks were dead weight.

"Come on, let's get you to bed before Gideon or Hotch sees." Morgan mumbled to Reid. For some reason Morgan did not understand, Reid found this funny, and he laughed wildly as Morgan dragged him out of the bar. It wasn't until the entered the hallway with its intricately patterned wallpaper that Reid stopped laughing. Morgan felt the giddiness leave Reid's body, and he suddenly knew the heaviness the young man had been carrying.

"I should have told him to choose me." Reid admitted, feeling his stomach turn. He was too drunk to notice that Morgan didn't respond. Another feeling swelled in Morgan's chest, but this time he understood it was sadness. He had imagined he'd be helping any other drunken member of the team before Reid, even Hotch or Gideon, but never Reid. The young agent had become something like an anchor for Morgan, although he would never admit it. His constant spewing of facts and statistics and his willingness to disclose to Morgan about personal problems had become something Morgan had been surprised to realize he enjoyed. Reid never had a father or an older brother, and Morgan had seen the longing for direction in his eyes. It had occurred to him a while ago that for as smart as Reid was, there were many things he did not know.

And with Reid leaning on him, murmuring about a night where Morgan had been too late to help, it felt as though he had failed.


	12. Chapter 12

** I just want to thank everyone for the reviews. I really do appreciate all the comments, insights, etc. This chapter is definitely not the end of my story (trust me, there's still much more to come), but I do realize that this is a very important chapter. I know it may seem a little out of character, but I'm just going to call that my "poetic license." I also know that it's long, and I, honestly, had to post it now because if I didn't, I'd just keep adding and editing... **

**Enjoy, and for those of you in the U.S., happy fourth of July! :)  
**

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_Whenever the end is, do you think you can see it? Well, until you get there, go on go ahead and scream it. Just say it." –One Republic "Say (All I Need)" _

* * *

"Alright, Reid, easy…" The second Morgan placed Reid on the double bed with its ugly, color-clashing comforter, Reid turned pale green and bolted for the bathroom, nearly crashing into the closet on his way. Morgan wasn't surprised Reid was sick judging from the amount of alcohol he had seen him ingest, and, from his position by the nightstand, Morgan heard the unmistakable splashes of vomit hitting the sides of the toilet. He considered finding Garcia or JJ or someone who could be more motherly in this type of situation, but unwilling to let the others know about Reid's on-the-job drunkenness, he filled a small glass of water from the sink stationed outside the bathroom and headed inside.

Morgan was unprepared for how small Reid looked curled over the top of the toilet. In his haste, Reid had discarded his sweater and it was hanging off the bathtub's edge. There was a line of sweat marked on the back of Reid's collared shirt where his spine protruded. The vomiting had not stopped when Morgan entered the bathroom, and he wondered what to do. Reid's body was shaking and he was clutching the porcelain sides as if he needed to be bolted down. Morgan registered that it was his hand that reached out and rubbed small circles on Reid's back until he finally stopped. _Reid must be really drunk, _he rationalized. _He'd never let me touch him otherwise._

"Here, drink this." Morgan handed Reid the glass of water and leaned in to flush the toilet. Reid sipped the liquid, allowing the coolness to ease his burning throat. He never could handle his alcohol well, but once the vomiting had stopped, the drunkenness had eased substantially.

"You gonna tell me what's going on now?" Morgan situated himself on the bathroom floor, waiting a few moments before he spoke. Reid moved closer to the porcelain bowl.

"I told you-" he began.

"Reid, I followed you and then watched you get smashed, on duty, in a bar. You cannot tell me that was an accident." The younger agent ran his hands through his hair, his fingers catching on tangles.

"It's nothing." Morgan watched Reid place the glass down and rub his temples. His hands shook.

"Bullshit." The unidentifiable anger was surfacing, and Reid felt what little control he had leave him. It was his enraged voice he heard echoing off the walls.

"What do you want me to say, Morgan?" Reid was suddenly yelling with a furry Morgan had never heard before. "What the fuck do you want from me?" Morgan wasn't sure he just heard correctly. He had to be living in some alternate universe if Reid was screaming at him andusing the f-bomb.

"Tell me what's going on, man. I want to help you."

"Who says I need help?" Even as he said this, Reid knew it was a lie. He figured he could hold out a bit longer. Maybe then, denial would turn everything right again.

"You and I know that's not true." For a brief moment, the only sounds were of Reid's ragged breathing. The anger was still rising, and Reid couldn't stop what came next.

"Just leave, alright."

"You're in my hotel room, Reid."

"Alright. Fine, Morgan." Reid struggled to rise to his feet, but, although he felt somewhat sober, he knew he was too drunk to do so. He got as far as his a squatting position, and then fell backwards. If Morgan hadn't been so shocked by Reid's outburst, he would have laughed at his ridiculous attempt to stand.

"Look," Reid spat. "I don't want any fucking help, alright?"

"I think that's debatable right now, Reid." Morgan kept his voice level, although he could feel his own temper surging. "I watched you get tanked and saved you after you ran your mouth to the bartender, and now you think you have the right to argue with me?"

"I can't believe you followed me tonight!" Reid spat, outraged.

"I can't believe you got drunk on assignment!" Morgan tried to stop his voice from rising, but it was no use.

"I told you!" Reid was screaming at him now, his face contorted into a mixture of pain and so much anger that Morgan had to take a deep breath to calm his emotions. He knew that in situations like these, it was easy to react. It was what Reid wanted, Morgan realized. _He wants you to be as angry as he is, _Morgan thought. _He's lashing out because he knows he's trapped and he's scared. _

"What did you tell me?" He asked this softly, trying to calm Reid with his voice alone. Morgan would never admit this, but he was scared. Not for himself because Morgan was scared of Reid. He was scared for him. _Come on Reid, _Morgan tried to reach the younger agent with his thoughts. _Let me help you. Please, let me help you._

"I said," Reid huffed. "I don't need your help or Hotch's help or anyone else from the team asking me if I'm OK, or if I need to talk, or I slept last night." Reid was breathing so hard he felt like his chest was going to explode. This anger was nothing like the rage that had quickly risen and left in the cemetery earlier that day. This force was so massive and so powerful, Reid felt as though he was a spectator, looking down at the bathroom and the chaos he was creating.

"We're worried." Reid recognized the soft tone Morgan was using. He knew Morgan was upset and trying to control it. He also knew he had some fight left. Before the anger emptied him of energy and will, Reid decided was going to act irrationally, uncharacteristically livid.

"I'm fine. How many times do I have to say that?"

"You don't look fine. In fact," Morgan debated the benefits of profiling Reid before doing so. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks. You've lost way too much weight. You're sweating, shaking, and screaming and swearing at me like you expect me to react. " Reid just stared at Morgan with the most empty eyes Morgan had ever seen. He ignored the prickles lining the length of his arms.

"Actually," he continued, "You _want _me to react." Reid blinked. "That's what you want, right?" Morgan saw Reid's knuckles tighten against his sleeves and then release.

"I want, he grumbled. "For everyone to just leave me alone." Although Morgan knew that Reid was still furious, he sensed that it was decreasing.

"Alright, say we do." Morgan contemplated. "What would that mean for you? How would that help you?" Reid felt the question hit the very center of his fury. The pieces began to break off, losing momentum, and, suddenly, he felt drained and void of any feeling whatsoever. He opened his mouth and closed it. _Morgan's right, Spencer. _He told himself. _What would happen to you if no one tried to help you?_

_"_You weren't there, though." Reid shook his head from side to side, but Morgan knew he was no longer enraged. His tone of voice had said that much, but the Spencer Reid sitting in front of Morgan had become a shell that was quivering, as if a cold had seeped deep down into his core.

"You're right," he agreed. "We weren't with Hankel, but we saw you on the computer-" Morgan stopped as the deluge of images came flooding forward: the first image of Reid, cuffed and coming into consciousness. He had seen the tears, heard the pain in his voice, and, worse, he remembered those surreal moments that stretched like an eternity when Reid was motionless on the floor. Never in his life had Morgan wanted an unsub to be caught alive as badly as he had that night in Georgia. He remembered vowing that if Reid was resuscitated by Hankel and they found him, he would personally destroy him. At that point, the job had been worthless because all Morgan wanted was some kind of resolution for the pain Hankel was not only causing Reid, but also the whole team. And the, Morgan recalled ,there was an instantly relief that spread through him when Hankel successfully revived Reid. Glancing at him, Morgan wondered if Reid knew just how horrified the team had been. _He thinks we don't understand, _Morgan realized. _I don't think anyone on the team had told him what they saw that night. Maybe he'll open up if I do..._

"It was terrifying," Morgan admitted. He didn't meet Reid's eyes when he saw them jerk upwards. "Watching you die and Hankel bring you back." This time, Morgan did look at younger agent. Reid met his gaze to prove he was paying attention, but did not say a word.

"I've had guns pressed to my head, Reid. I've had people try to blow me up and shoot me. I've been in cases where I thought, even just for a second, that it may be my last, but that night when you were dead?" Morgan's body involuntarily convulsed. He had never actually said those words in a sentence before, and the affects was more powerful than he had anticipated. "Was, by far, the scariest moment of my life."There was a thick, immediate silence that covered the room, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

Tobias's hands were on Reid's arm and he felt the needle, the push, and the familiar surge of relief. Across the room, Morgan saw Reid's body go stiff and watched his lips part and mouth the word "No." _What did you do, Derek? _His brain screamed. _Why did you tell him that? _Reid felt his body begin to shake, and then the bathroom suddenly filled with the smell of burning animal flesh. Before he knew what was happening, Reid was headfirst into the toilet, releasing more bile into the water.

"Easy..." Morgan saw Reid gag and he winced as the kid released more of his stomach's contents into the toilet. Morgan grabbed the glass, headed to the sink, and filled it with water once more. By the time he had returned, Reid had stopped. He was sitting cross legged and staring at the floor in a way that suggested to Moran that he was not aware of the room, Morgan, or any of his surroundings.

"Reid?" Morgan's anger was gone too, replaced by concern for the younger agent. "I got you some water." Reid nodded at the floor, reached a shaking hand outwards, and took the glass from Morgan's hand. Morgan sat down in the same spot, watching Reid as he held the glass in his hand. For a moment, Morgan wondered if Reid would throw it at him, or if he even knew what to do with it. Instead, Reid set the glass on the floor next to him. Morgan reached for Reid's arm, but was not surprised when Reid pulled away from his touch.

"I really fucked up this time, Morgan." Reid did not address Morgan, but, instead, kept his eyes on the floor. The groves separating each tile from the next swirled together, and he blinked to stop their movement.

"Tell me about it so we can fix it." Morgan's voice was soft that Reid had to bite his lip until he tasted blood. How could he explain this? He pulled his knees to his chest and began rocking back in forth to ease the anxiety he felt.

"Reid, stop." The site of Reid swaying back and forth frightened Morgan in ways he could not fully explain. "It's me, Reid. I can help you." The motion stopped, but Morgan could tell Reid was battling with himself by the way his face contorted.

Reid didn't know if he would regret his next actions, but memories of that night in Georgia were becoming mixed into his everyday life. It was becoming increasingly difficult to separate the two. _He can help you, _Reid repeatedly told himself. Finally, he spoke so softly that Morgan had to strain to hear him.

"Look in my bag. In the inner pocket." Perplexed, Morgan stood. "It's by the bed," Reid gestured with his left hand towards the outside room. Morgan knew not to protest, but he still felt as though he was violating Reid's privacy when he went to the bedside and reached for the bag that he had come to know as Reid's extra appendage.

He shifted through some loose papers, a book, empty sugar packets, a pack of gum, and Reid's cell phone. _Inside pocket? Wait, this small thing? _Morgan reached down into its depths until his fingertips grazed cool glass. The two smile vials were not large, but they held a liquid of some sorts. Having been a cop, Morgan took a deep breath to calm himself. _What the hell? Is this what I think it is? _The liquid looked a lot like drugs to him, but maybe it was something else. After all, this was Reid. He _knew _better. Ignoring the burning in the bottom of his stomach, Morgan reentered the bathroom.

He stood for a moment, looking down at the younger agent who refused to meet his eyes. Reid could feel Morgan's stare and it took a deep breath for him to look upwards.

"What is this, man? Are you sick?" Morgan held the two containers up to the light. Reid watched as the drug inside slammed against the glass. He wanted it to be cursing through his bloodstream, sending him further away from the bathroom, Morgan, and the feeling that more of his stomach's contents would end up in the toilet in a very short amount of time.

"I'm not sick." He spoke slowly because he could sense Morgan was scared and attempting to control his feelings. Above him, Morgan tried to stop his rapid thoughts. _Please, Reid. Please, God, don't let this be what I think this is. Please let it be something-anything-else..._

"Then what is it, Reid? Because I have an idea about what this it, but I want to give you the benefit of the doubt here…" Morgan looked down at Reid's skewed curls and shaking body.

"Please let me give you the benefit of the doubt…" When Reid was unable to meet his gaze, he slouched against the opposite wall and slid down to a sitting position once more.

"I told you I messed up," Reid mumbled more to himself than Morgan.

"What drug is this?" Morgan's voice cracked. He wanted to reach out and shake Reid to his senses.

"Dilaudid. It's Tobias's. It's a narcotic. I took them from him after he…" Reid saw Tobias's body on the floor between he and Morgan. His vacant, open eyes stared right at him. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, Tobias was gone.

"After what?" Morgan knew. He wished he didn't.

"After I shot him." Reid's voice went flat and emotionless. For a quick moment, Morgan saw the graveyard. He saw Tobias and Reid, shaking, crying, and mumbling to Hotch. The glass in Morgan's hands suddenly felt too heavy. _Reid kept a dead man's drugs? Why?_ And when his eyes surveyed the shaking, thin figure leaning against the toilet in front of him, the months began to piece themselves together in front of Morgan's eyes.

"You've been taking drugs? Not these," Morgan held the bottles in his open palm so Reid could see. From the look in his eyes, he wasn't keeping the two vials out of his sight. "But other narcotics?" Reid drew his legs tighter to his chest, resting his eye sockets on his bony knees. He knew this question was coming. _I'm not a sinner! _He heard his own voice bang against his skull.

"Yes." If words could shatter worlds, then Reid's was now on the ground, broken and dislodged and completely exposed. Neither man spoke, and the only other sounds were of muffled televisions from the surrounding rooms.

"How…" Morgan cleared his suddenly constricted throat. "How long?"

"Months." Reid still had not removed his head from his knees. He seemed to be growing into a smaller and smaller ball with each question. Across from him, Morgan understood Reid's behavior now. He wished he didn't.

"I don't know what to say, Reid. You should-you could have…" A shiver ran down Reid's spine. Had he ever heard Morgan at a loss for something to say before? Reid tried, but his memory seemed to have dislodged itself from its normal state.

"I would have helped you." Morgan continued after what Reid thought was years.

Morgan knew there were signs: the sleep filled eyes each morning; the uncharacteristically snappy comments; the jumpiness. Reid's flashback in the graveyard and Reid alone having made no progress on the day's geographical profile should have been the whole team's wake-up call, but Morgan knew it should have happened much sooner. Maybe the night they found him in the cemetery with Tobias's body yards away-dead from Reid's shot because they had not been there in time.

Both men let the silence fill the tiny room. Underneath Reid, the tile floor felt cool and inviting. If Morgan wasn't taking up such a substantial amount of space, Reid figured he could lay down, covering the floor with his body. He imagined that's how the team would find him the next morning-asleep, hung over, and alone. When he finally brought his eyes away from his knees, Reid was surprised to find that Morgan was still sitting across from him. The weight of his disclosure rested on his chest, causing his breathing to hitch. The silence was becoming too much. Reid needed Morgan to speak.

"Please, say something." Morgan heard Reid's dry, whispered plea, but he didn't know what to do. His whole life, he protected others-his family, his friends, and his team. That's what he was good at, but the Reid in front of him needed help and he hadn't noticed. He hadn't said a word until after Hotch's speech. Why had no one done anything?

"I'm not sure what to say." Morgan went with the truth. Reid stared at the ceiling's bumpy canvas. "I feel like I, like the team, failed you." Reid nodded, but Morgan could see he agreed by his body language.

"Why do drugs, though?" Morgan asked even though he knew he was playing with a dangerous question. "You and I both know there are a lot of ways to escape yourself." If Reid was surprised by Morgan's interrogation, he did not show it.

"I've had nightmares, you know? It's like every time I've closed my eyes, I'm back there. I'm holding the shovel, throwing dirt to the side, waiting to die." The admittance alone made Reid's body convulse. He gripped the sides of the toilet just in case.

"That's what happened in the graveyard today?" Morgan asked, feeling the same frightened mass enter his body. The memory of Reid's empty expression had scared him to the core.

"It happens all the time." Reid admitted. "I hear his voice. I see him everywhere." Morgan nodded because he knew that feeling too.

"It's like I know what our victims feel," Reid took a deep breath to steady his stomach. "I know what it's like right before you think you're going to die." Morgan had not considered this before. At the end of the case, he had been so happy that Reid was okay and that the team had figured out the clues Reid was somehow able to communicate to them. Morgan hadn't even bothered to realize that Reid probably, at one point or another, thought he was going to die. _When was that? _Morgan wondered. _You must have been so scared, kid. _

"Now, I can't focus. I can't do anything I used to..." Reid shook his head, staring at the tiles once more.

"When you came back, you had a psych evaluation right?" Morgan's eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. He was surprised when Reid chuckled in a hardened way he had only heard criminals use.

"I have an IQ of 187, Morgan. I _know_ what to tell a shrink." _Denial, _Morgan's inner voice told him.

"What else?" Reid looked surprised, as if his brilliant mind had not thought that he'd have to explain more than he had already. _This is Morgan_, he reminded himself. _He can read others as well as you can._ From his swayed vision, shaking limbs, and pounding headache, Reid judged he looked pretty pathetic.

"Cases give me flashbacks. I just look at crime scene photos and I'm back there. I'm jumpy too. When I'm with people, I can't wait to get away. When I'm alone, I want people near me because I can't seem to make this stop…" Reid bit his quivering bottom lip. This whole thing was embarrassing enough. He vowed he wouldn't cry in front of Morgan too.

"You and I know that PTSD is perfectly normal after traumatic experiences." Morgan reminded him with a soft voice that he usually only used with victims. _That's what you are, _Reid's mind taunted.

"I know, but I figured that wouldn't happen to me. I mean, I figured I was smarter than that."

"Reid, you are smart, but no one expected you not to be affected after the Hankel case." Reid cringed. To Morgan, it was still a case. To him, it felt like a break in his world.

"I know." He paused, unsure how to explain. "But I expected that of myself, Morgan. I expected to be okay. And when I wasn't, I remembered how the drugs had helped when Tobias injected them. It was like I could go back in time and see everything so much clearer, but without the pain…without knowledge…" Morgan had often wondered what it would be like to be Reid. Morgan knew a fair amount and considered himself intelligent, but to know everything the instant you read it and to always know that your brain's powers alone kept you separated from others? Morgan couldn't comprehend this notion of social isolation and that fact alone had made him fully realize how and why Reid was in the position he was now. He had always relied on his brain, but, Morgan figured, it had been a shock to realize it couldn't help. Morgan had been right earlier: Reid did know better, but he was powerless to deal with this knowledge.

"What happened then? When you got home?" Reid shrugged and pulled at a hang nail on his pinky finger.

"I tried to calm myself down. I tried long walks, journaling, listening to music, yoga…" Morgan smiled faintly at the thought of Reid bending into contorted positions.

"And there were a few times I wanted to talk to you or Gideon…" Reid trailed off. _If you dig deep enough, we all have our secrets. Even Reid. _Morgan could not figure out why his own words had come back to him.

"Why didn't you?" He pushed.

"It felt, feels," Reid corrected himself. "Like I'm on this other side of something. It's like I'm living between parallel worlds." Morgan wanted to say he understood, God, he did, but he kept quiet, letting Reid continue. "I know the team cares and you're all worried, but I don't know how to explain this," Reid gestured outwards with his hands, referring to his drunken confessions and erratic behavior.

"Fair enough," Morgan rationalized, although he wished Reid had said something. "Is there anyone else you thought about talking to?" He hoped Reid would mention a therapist, counselor, or someone professionally qualified to deal with trauma and drug addiction; instead, he said the exact opposite.

"I want to write my mom and let her know, but I can't."

"You could-"

"Morgan, she's crazy. No matter how many times she seems lucid and medicated, deep down, she's still a mentally ill. I can't tell her." Reid shook his head.

"She's your mom, Reid."

"And imagine what it would feel like to tell your mom that your life no longer was in your control?" Morgan would never admit it, but, even as a grown man, that prospect terrified him. "How do you think that letter would go, Morgan?" Reid couldn't stop the anger and it escaped through his lips in a tone he did not recognize. "Dear Mom, I'm addicted to drugs because some crazy person, like you, tried to kill me." Taken back by the sheer force of Reid's words, Morgan remained quiet. _Let it out, Reid, _he silently encouraged.

"And guess what else, Mom?" Morgan saw Reid's knuckles turn white as he clutched the loose fabric at the bottom of his pant legs. "I do drugs to forget, but it's kind of messed up" Reid laughed slightly, "Because I still can't forget." Reid was so mad that he figured if he had been standing, he would have tried to do something manly, ineffective, and out of character, like punch a hole the hotel wall. Morgan tried not to appear surprised at Reid's declaration, but he couldn't help it when his eyes widened. Who was the Spencer Reid sitting across from him?

"Reid," Morgan began, although he knew he had no idea what to say. "It's okay to be angry with yourself or with the team or me..." As he spoke, Reid let his legs straighten out in front of him. They were so long that they easily reached the opposite wall.

"I'm fucked up." Morgan had never heard self-loathing in Reid's voice before, but it was there now. He contemplated reaching out to the younger agent because the Reid in front of him had started shaking, and Morgan realized Reid was trying not to cry. The thought alone made his stomach turn.

"I thought I knew better." Reid's voice that had been previously loud and filled with anger had dropped to an almost inaudible tone. Sensing that he could push him, Morgan took control of the conversation.

"And when you knew you weren't alright?" Morgan asked. Reid drew his knees to his chest once more, ignoring the cold tears he now felt on his hot cheeks. This was so far beyond embarrassing that he wondered if Morgan would see him the same again.

"I couldn't stop."

"And now?" Morgan challenged. Reid took a deep breath before he spoke.

"I need help." Reid couldn't stop the tears anymore. Morgan saw Reid's face change from attempting to be composed to completely overwhelmed. Reid's body convulsed, and then there was a sound that Morgan had not heard before. Reid choked, fought, and then his body sagged forward as he gave in to what no longer could be contained. Morgan had seen people cry before, mainly his mother, old girlfriends and flames, sometimes a coworker or two, but the most came from victims. Never had he seen Reid so upset, so dejected, and so lost. It was then that Morgan knew Reid had been broken.

"Please, Morgan," Reid dropped his face from view and gave in to the waves of sobs. "Help me. I don't want to live like this anymore." Morgan couldn't stop himself when he thought _do you want to live at all anymore, Reid? _That was a notion he didn't even want to entertain.

"Reid-"Morgan stopped, trying to contain his own tears that had appeared from somewhere inside of him-the same place that was howling in protest at the sight in front of his eyes. _Be strong _the voice instructed. _Reid needs your help now._

"Derek." Reid never used Morgan's full name. Ever. At that moment, Morgan felt pieces of himself break. Reid was trying to say more, but the forcefulness of his tears had him suffocating on his words. What came out sounded more like incomprehensible sputtering than it did lucid sentences.

"I'm sorry…I…you" To Morgan, it was as though someone turned on a switch. One minute, Reid had been talking, albeit drunk, and, the next, he was falling apart without any chance of understanding the change that had occurred. Morgan realized he didn't fully comprehend it himself and, now, he felt stuck. _I don't know what to do right now, _he realized.

"I never meant…I can't" Reid's body was shaking so much that his ribs were hitting the side of the wall adjacent to the toilet. Morgan reached out his hand, but stopped midair. _Reid doesn't like being touched, _his mind warned, although another voice inside said that Reid needed actual physical contact. He let his arm stay extended in limbo as Reid continued.

"I don't know how to fix this." It was, perhaps, the first clear sentence Reid had said since the emotions had taken hold, and it was the only thing Derek Morgan needed to hear. His arms worked their way outward across the floor that felt as wide as a rift between two mountains. He felt the jutting bones in Reid's back, the strong smell of whiskey, and the forcefulness of his addiction as he realized that Reid had begun to cry so hard that he could no longer speak. When he began gasping for air, Morgan took charge.

"Take deep breaths, Reid." The agent did and, consequently, he regained some composure. He was still crying with no signs of slowing down, but he could breathe again. He took deep breaths to fill his aching lungs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Morgan didn't want or need to hear that. If anything, he was the one who sorry.

"It's okay, Reid." Reid stopped murmuring into Morgan's shirt. "You're going to be OK." _Let it all go, kid. _He told him silently.

When Reid heard Morgan's words and felt Morgan pulling him towards him with one arm cupping protectively around the back of his head, Reid did not fight. He realized he had never been held like this before. He felt his body unravel from his balled position, his tense muscles relaxed, and the familiar black t-shirt under his cheeks quickly became soaked. He held onto it with balled fingertips. It felt as if he was falling over a cliff and Morgan was the thin line of frayed rope pulling him back from the rocky ledge.

Morgan felt Reid's clenched fists, the wetness on his shirt, and the sobs that echoed off the bathroom's walls. He wanted to say something reassuring, but words no longer seemed to have a place, so he held onto Reid, letting him release the Hankel case, the months of nightmares, and the admittance of failure. Something told him that Reid did not fail often and that this night alone was more overwhelming than any flashback Reid experienced.

Reid felt that this comfort was different. It was new, unfamiliar, but it was real. A line _had_ been crossed. He was right-things wouldn't be the same.

Morgan was unsure of how long he sat, cradling Reid in the tiny bathroom, but he knew it was a long time by the tingling in his legs and the dampness of his shirt. After Reid had remained unmoving for a while, Morgan glanced down and was not surprised when he saw that Reid had fallen asleep. _He exhausted himself out, _Morgan thought.

Morgan gathered Reid in his arms and stood on his burning legs. He took a minute to regain his balance and, in doing so, caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The muscles in his arms extended under the weight of holding Reid in a fireman's carry. The boy's eyes were closed and accented by dark eyelashes, his lips were slightly parted, and his head rested against the older agent's shoulder. If any other team member walked in, Morgan realized with a slight amused grin, he'd have a whole hell of a lot of explaining to do. When his legs regained circulation, he carried Reid to his room's extra bed and placed him underneath blankets, tucking him between sheet and mattress as he would a small child. In his sleep, Reid stirred, but did not wake. Looking down at the young man who now looked more like a young boy, Morgan sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer." He whispered to the sleeping figure before climbing into his own bed. He paused a minute to listen to Reid's deep, even breathing before reaching for the light on the bedside table. With one flick of a switch, darkness settled over the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of this story. I definitely feel as though the rest of this story has a lot to live up to, and I hope that the following chapters can do just that. The kind words and insights I received have been humbling and inspiring. I didn't image that I'd ever effect some of you like you've said in your reviews and messages, but from a personal and writer standpoint, I really appreciate them-so, sincerely, thank you.**

**Sorry this chapter is short. I used the song "Aint Too Proud to Beg" by The Temptations in this chapter as well. Everything else is my creation. Enjoy! :)**

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"_I screamed so loud cause that's exactly how I felt. It broke me out, and I gave up all my plans. I set them down cause I really need to see the sun again. Don't worry cause I'll be fine." -The Dangerous Summer "Reach for the Sun"_

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"I know you want to leave me, but I refuse to let you go!" _What is that? _Reid's brain was still not working properly. He had a massive headache, and whoever was singing was horribly off key.

"If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy, I don't mind cause you mean that much to me!" _I'm dead, _Reid rationalized. _I'm in hell and this is my penance for drinking too much last night. _

"Aint to proud to beeegggg!" As the singing reached epic decibels, Reid pushed the covers down, revealing the same clothes he had worn the day before. They were crumpled, bunched in odd places, and damp with sweat. _I reek of alcohol, _he thought as he took a sniff at his shirt sleeve. The patterns on the bedspread swam into one, and he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts and ease his unsettled stomach.

"Now, I've heard a quiet man is half a man with no sense of pride. If I have to cry to keep you, I don't mind weeping if it will keep you by my siiideee!" Whoever was screeching was in it for the encore. Reid groaned and opened his eyes. There had to be a way out.

_Where the hell am I? _He wondered as he surveyed the hotel room, which certainly was not his judging from the black leather luggage bag in the corner. Across from his bed, was another bed, which Reid knew someone had slept in because the sheets were wrinkled and pushed towards the bottom. On the nightstand, he spotted a bottle of water. For a moment, he debated if he should drink it, but he parched throat worked for him and he grabbed it, drinking greedily. Reid was so busy gulping that he didn't hear Morgan's voice until he was standing at the foot of the bed with a white towel wrapped around his waist.

"Slow down there, Reid. You're gonna choke." Surprised, Reid dribbled water on his chin. _I'm in Morgan's room, _he thought for one surreal moment before the night before came rushing back to him: the drinks at the bar; the shots; profiling the bartender, who had not been too happy with the outcome; Morgan dragging him to safety; the vomiting; the screaming at Morgan, and then his conversation with Morgan. His last memory was of Morgan's black t-shirt and the way the sobs had rushed forward with such force that he felt powerless, exhausted, and completely transformed into a blubbering mess.

"Fuck!" Reid hadn't meant for that to be said out loud, but it was his frustrated voice the bounced off the walls. He placed his burning cheeks in his hands. To his utter surprise, Morgan laughed.

"I'm not shocked you have a hangover there, pretty boy." Reid didn't look up, especially because he heard the yanking of dresser drawers opening. He realized it had been Morgan singing in the shower and now he was getting dressed. The last thing Reid wanted to see was naked Morgan.

"Your shower performance didn't help."

"Don't tell me you don't dig The Temptations?" Morgan asked.

"I didn't realize you were singing" Reid grumbled into his palms. "I thought someone was trying to drown an angry cat."

"Very funny, kid." Reid heard Morgan open the cap to something and, from the smell of it, Reid figured it was deodorant. More accurately, Old Spice. He kept his head in his hands, reluctant to face Morgan.

"So," Morgan began. Reid felt the bed sink with his weight. "You ever drinking again? I am impressed, though. I've never guessed you could take that many shots" At the mentioning of consuming any type of alcohol, Reid felt his gag reflex go into action. The remnants of the night before rose quickly, but Morgan was faster, and Reid retched into the garbage can that had placed in his lap.

"How," Reid took a slow sip of water. "Did you know?" For the second time that morning, Morgan laughed.

"I've had my fair share of hungover mornings." Reid nodded. _I bet you Morgan doesn't blab his secrets when he's drunk, _Reid thought.

"Did I fall asleep in the bathroom?" Reid felt it was for the best to leave out the "as I was crying part."

"Uh huh."

"And you carried me here?" Reid motioned to the bed and its tangled sheets. Morgan nodded yes, and Reid groaned again, hitting the back of his head on the wooden headboard.

"Yeah, let's not mention that to anyone," Morgan joked. Reid nodded in agreement.

"I owe you." Without the cover of his hands, Reid didn't know where to look or what to do. He sat crossed legged on the bed and looked at the ceiling to avoid Morgan's eyes, which had suddenly turned serious.

"Normally, I'd say you do, but…" Morgan paused, wondering how to continue. "I don't think I give you enough credit sometimes." Reid had not expected this and he looked towards the older agent in confusion.

"What? If anything, _you_ deserve credit. You saved me from being pummeled by the bartender, let me puke in your bathroom, didn't turn me into Hotch or Gideon, and you..." Reid fidgeted with the end of the bedspread. "Let me, you know, talk..." In the silence that followed, Reid listened to the groan of water pipes as someone in a nearby room turned on their shower.

"All that stuff you told me last night about Tobias and the drugs and everything else," Morgan stopped because his throat had become constricted. He was still wrapping his mind around the idea that Reid had a drug problem. "That took a lot of guts, kid."

"I was drunk." Morgan smiled, but it looked like a sad smile to Reid.

"It's still hard to ask for help, Reid." Morgan watched the younger agent pull a loose thread on the comforter.

"I guess so."

"Would you have told me all that or asked for help if you were sober?" Morgan challenged. He saw how Reid held his breath for a moment before exhaling. His fingertips picked at a thin thread on the bedspread and his eyes were still cast downward. _Don't push him, _his brain warned. _He's embarrassed about last night. _

"No." Reid finally answered, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Morgan could feel the waves of shame pouring off the kid.

"Give yourself some credit then." Morgan encouraged in a tone so gentle that Reid felt his eyes immediate brim with tears. _Where the hell are these coming from? _He asked himself, blinking rapidly.

"I'm not sure this is the kind of thing to be proud of, Morgan." Reid looked at his rumpled clothing and surroundings. "I'm hungover and in your hotel room. I have a drug problem, and I'm pretty sure I've been a huge asshole lately." Morgan watched Reid's cheeks turn bright red. _He's struggling right now, _he realized. _He doesn't know how to deal with his disclosure._

"I'm not gonna lie to you," Morgan teased. "You've been a bit of an asshole." A small smile tugged Reid's lips upwards for a second. "But, it's understandable given the circumstances."

"It doesn't make it right or acceptable." Reid argued. From the way Reid avoided eye contact and fidgeted with the bedspread, Morgan could tell he was having a difficult time accepting the addiction himself. _It may be in the open, _Morgan thought. _But Reid still has a long way to go._

"You may be intelligent and able to do a job that most wouldn't be able to handle, but you're only human, Reid." Judging from the way Reid's face fell, Morgan realized he didn't pick up his subtle compliments.

_"_God, I yelled at Hotch yesterday." Reid felt his cheeks turn red for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

"You yelled at me too." Morgan joked. He wasn't surprised when Reid bit his lip. _He's really ashamed, _he realized.

"Do you think," Reid took a deep breath before continuing. "Anyone else from the team knows?" Morgan knew Reid was referring to his drug addiction now, and he surveyed the young man sitting in front of him for a minute. He had pillowcase lines creased onto his right cheek from sleeping on one side too long, his hair was shoved into a series of knots, his clothes were wrinkled and bunched in random places, and his eyes stayed downcast in a way that reminded Morgan of Clooney when he was being punished.

"I think," Morgan thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "That some have a better idea than others." Reid nodded, knowing he meant Gideon and Hotch.

"I figured you'd say that." He grumbled. "I guess it makes my assumptions reality then."

"You can't fool a bunch of profilers, Reid." Reid nodded, fidgeting again before he spoke.

"I don't know...I'm not sure..." he stuttered.

"What to do next?" Morgan offered. Reid nodded, unable to meet Morgan's eyes. He felt the tears and he didn't want the older agent to see because he felt as though last night was his "crying in front of others" quota.

"If you don't tell Hotch or Gideon, I will." Reid had wanted to thank Morgan for this ultimatum, but the statement did not allow room for debate or even interjection.

"That's a good plan." Reid agreed.

"Come on, boy genius." Morgan told Reid who looked like he wanted to disappear underneath the sheets, "You better go to your room and get ready. We gotta get going soon, and you stink like whiskey." Reid nodded, grateful for the excuse to get up, put on his shoes, and grab his bag. While he busied himself, Morgan watched his shaky movements out of the corner of his eye. _This is just the beginning, kid. _He told him. _I'll help you any way I can. Just say the word, and I'll be there._

"Hey Morgan," Reid was at the doorframe, and Morgan stopped shoving dirty clothes in his to go bag to look up at his coworker.

"What's up?" Reid opened his mouth, hesitated, shuffled his feet, and looked at the ground.

"I...you know...I'm not good at this." Morgan smiled. He didn't need to hear what Reid wanted to say because he knew the kid was sincere.

"Don't worry about it, Reid." The younger agent pursed his lips together and, for a moment, he met Morgan's eyes. Unlike the day before on the plane, Morgan saw emotions stirring in the hazel mixture. It was as if the talk from the night before had returned a part of Reid that had been missing. Morgan knew that he could support Reid, but he also knew the younger agent was going to have to face a lot of things. _You don't become a drug addict because you're happy, _Morgan thought. It pained Morgan to realize that particular battle was something Reid would have to do alone.

He wished he could tell the kid how scared he was the night before, watching in the dim light as Reid downed those drinks. Or worse, how he saw the tears come in droves. Morgan wanted to tell him that, sometimes, things just need to come out. It wasn't pretty or manly or anything he knew Reid felt particularly proud of, but, as he watched Reid shut the door with a gentle click, Morgan felt something else swell inside him. Something he said aloud to the empty room.

"I'm proud of you, kid." And that same something told him Reid already knew.


	14. Chapter 14

**I want to express my gratitude to everyone who left reviews, added me, or sent me messages. The responses, constructive criticisms, and insights I've been fortunate enough to receive have, by far, exceeded any expectations I had when I decided to write a CM fanfic. Thank you-everything is appreciated.**

**This next chapter is like the previous ones-if I didn't post it soon, it would become something I didn't recognize or necessarily want...I know this may sound like a closing chapter, but, trust me, it's definitely not. That being said, happy reading! :)  
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**"_And all the dark, and all the lies, were all the empty things disguised as me."-Goo Goo Dolls "Sympathy"_

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After a long day, the DNA results led them to their suspect, and although no one was particularly happy with not figuring out a profile, it wasn't long before the team bordered the jet bound for Virginia and the FBI headquarters. Morgan was unable to sleep the whole flight home, but he noted Reid had slept so soundly he had to fight the urge to check his pulse. When Hotch noticed too, he met Morgan's eyes and Morgan mouthed the word "later." Shoving his headphones in his ears, he smiled when his iPod randomly chose The Temptations.

The last time Reid slept as well as he had without the aid of some drug or illicit substance was before the whole Georgia fiasco. As the engines hummed underneath him and the sky cast a multicolored sunset that ushered in a dark night, Reid did not dream, have nightmares, or even so much as move. His body was exhausted, and it took the chance to grab a few hours of uninterrupted slumber. When he was shaken by Morgan as the plane began its descent, he felt as though years had left him.

The night air was refreshingly cold when the team exited the jet, and Reid watched as everyone murmured goodbyes and shuffled to their cars with sleep in their eyes and on their minds. He had debated asking someone for a ride home, but knew that wasn't possible when he felt Morgan's presence beside him.

"I'm doing it now" he explained without having to ask what Morgan wanted. With a firm clap of his hand to Reid's shoulder, Morgan walked away from Reid so he wouldn't notice how he blinked away the tears that had surged to the forefront of his lenses.

"Drive safe everyone," Hotch called to his team in the parking lot of the BAU. Tired eyes met his equally exhausted ones. Hotch watched Morgan's quick steps to his vehicle, JJ's sudden drop into her driver's seat, Prentiss get to her car rather quickly only to fiddle with the radio dial, and Gideon's screeching exit around the bend leading to the road. Hotch was not surprised to find that when he turned to go to his own car, he saw Reid a few feet away, staring into his surroundings as if he was not sure what the sky, pavement, and his place between them meant. Hotch knew what was going to happen, and he observed Reid's demeanor as he walked closer to him. He fidgeted with his hands, shoved them into his pockets, and took them out, only to repeat the process a few seconds later.

Hotch did not speak when he reached the younger man's side. It seemed as though no words needed to be said, as both men were aware that something was on the cusp of spilling over around them. Uncomfortable, Reid turned his attention upwards and was startled that he had not noticed the brilliance of the starry night sky before this moment.

"There were stars that night, you know?" He spoke without looking at Hotch, who remained quiet, knowing there was more. "In Georgia with Tobias. There were stars." It was the first time Reid had addressed the case with Hotch, and he saw the change that overcame Reid. He refused eye contact, preferring to keep his neck angled towards the blackened night overhead. In the dim light of the moon, Reid looked pale, thin, and sick. So sick that Hotch felt guilt rise in him. _You know the signs, _he thought.

"You know, Reid…" Reid looked at Hotch when he spoke, and Hotch was startled by Reid's eyes. At first, they were as they always had been-soft and inviting, but then something shifted aside and Hotch saw for the first time the pain etched along the hazel circle. In his years profiling, Hotch knew that eyes often spoke more truthfully than words. A look to the right meant dishonesty. Nervous shifting meant deception, guilt, or even fear. He had learned these traits through interrogations and watching and studying human behavior, yet he had missed the subtle cues from one of his own for months. Now, he and Reid stood in an abandoned parking lot under an expansive mass of fragmented light.

"I think I failed you." Reid's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, choosing to stare at the ground. "We all failed you, actually."

"Morgan said that too." Reid mumbled, shuffling his shoes against loose gravel. _Good job, Morgan _Hotch thought.

"Did you know that stars are just explosions of gas and helium?" Reid changed the subject, sounding less interested than he normally would when rattling off a statistic. Hotch nodded. He had known.

"Is that how you feel?" Reid's face contorted into confusion. "Like you're about to lose everything? You know, explode so to speak?" The grating of the tiny pebbles sounded harsh as they scraped against the pavement and the bottoms of Reid's sneakers. Miles away, the faint blare of a car horn resounded through the night.

"Sometimes."

"You have every right to be angry with me, with us, Reid." Reid stopped shuffling his feet, but did not look at Hotch. "We failed you as a team, and I failed you as your superior." Hotch didn't want to, but he let his mind wander to what Reid had looked like, tied to the chair, hurt, and crying. How he could not have seen the aftermath was beyond him, but it felt incredibly stupid now.

"I am angry." Reid admitted, relaxing his shoulders and peering at Hotch. _He needs to know that what he's feeling is acceptable, _Hotch realized, hating that he was profiling one of his own.

"Sometimes it's at you or with the team, but I'm really angrier with myself."

"It's normal to-"

"Not for me." Reid silenced Hotch before he could finish, and the two stayed that way for a few minutes. Hotch knew the conversation was edging closer to what needed to come, but he wanted it to be on Reid's terms. It needed to be that way for Reid's sake.

"I hate the dark," Reid said suddenly, turning his attention back upwards. "It's like anything can happen…" Reid felt a thin line of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. His hangover was beginning to turn into withdrawals. From the way Hotch was surveying his shaking frame, he could tell he knew.

"A lot of things have happened since…" Reid swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Since Tobias." He knew everyone else called it the Hankel case, but he felt detached from formalities. What happened to him had been deeply personal, and he needed to keep it that way. It felt as though he had no other choice.

"What types of things?" Reid parted his lips. In the moonlight, Hotch saw the top crack with dryness. He waited for Reid to speak, but he wasn't surprised when the boy didn't. Instead, he closed them. _He's not ready yet, _Hotch realized. _He feels unsafe. _Hotch could sense the fear shooting off Reid's body.

"How are you feeling?" Hotch asked. Reid was shaking so badly that Hotch had to fight the urge to reach out and place a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Sick, and…" Reid searched his mind for words. "Exhausted I guess."

"You slept well on the plane." Hotch commented, trying to play dumb. Reid didn't take the bait.

"That's not what I mean."

"You mean mentally?" Hotch was beginning to force the conversation where it needed to go, and Reid didn't understand why this seemed so much harder than talking to Morgan. _You're not drunk, _his brain reminded him.

"I…" Reid shook his head from side to side, as if there was a war going on between his words and his brain and the latter was winning. Hotch pretended not to see when Reid swiped at his face with his palm. Above them, he noted how the millions of stars were an audience, peering down on the scene in the empty lot. When Hotch went to glance at Reid again to detect any subtle cues, he suddenly stopped himself. _Give him a chance to be honest, _He rationalized._ You know Reid. Just give him some time. _Hotch took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking the truth.

"Reid, you and I both know that we have to talk about a few things." Reid bit his bottom lip. "Now, I can sit her attempting to profile you, which you know I've been doing. Or, you can talk and let me help you." To Hotch, it didn't feel right to profile Reid. Something about it felt deeply intrusive, and he realized that he had already been silent enough. _Reid's smart, _he thought. _He knows I don't want to treat him like some suspect or criminal. _

Although Reid wasn't excited by the prospect of revealing his secrets to Hotch, he felt better knowing that Hotch wouldn't profile him. He could tell he had been, but Reid also knew he wasn't really giving him any other choice. A few times, he knew he had been avoiding what really needed to be said, but it was as though he was treading water, watching the shore become a speck of land as the waves pushed him further and further away from everything. Reid remained silent. _Just begin anywhere, _his mind encouraged.

"I'm anxious all the time. I can't sleep. I can't stop seeing him, Tobias, everywhere." _That's a start, _Hotch thought.

"What happens when you're anxious, have a nightmare, or see Tobias?" He used Hankel's first name. If this was personal for Reid, then he'd try to show him he understood, however subtle. Reid shook so much that the dirt under his shoes shifted.

"I can't deal with it." This admittance, spoken in a voice just above a whisper, seemed too much for the young agent. Reid felt his brain fight with his legs, which wanted to bolt, and he stumbled forward. Hotch, fearing he'd fall, caught Reid by the shoulders, helping him regain his balance. Reid ignored the wetness on his face and the fact that Hotch was still holding onto his shoulders.

"How, Reid?" Underneath his hands, Reid's body stiffened. He looked straight ahead at the fields surrounding the lot.

"Tobias injected me with Dilaudid. It's a narcotic." Hotch saw a glimpse of the old Reid, as he faced him, explaining a fact that he somehow knew. His head turned back to the field. "I took two bottles off his body…" Hotch's mind recalled Reid limping back and kneeling down next to Hankel. He figured the boy was saying goodbye, not stealing drugs.

"I didn't use them, though."

"But you used others?" Reid felt the moment was here and he nodded yes. Hotch let out a sigh that made Reid jump. The younger agent registered that Hotch's hands were by his sides again.

"What, Reid? I need to know." Reid nodded again and his stomach twisted. He felt hot in the chilly night air.

"More narcotics," he cleared his dry throat. "Vicodin, Percocet, Valium, you know, the basics." He eyed Hotch with a sideways glance and a small smile. He wasn't surprised when Hotch didn't return the smile.

"And when that stopped working?" Hotch met his eyes with hard ones. He believed what he was hearing, however badly he didn't want to, and he needed to be the strong one right now.

"Alcohol. Pot sometimes too, but mostly narcotics." Reid had only smoked pot once with the college neighbor because it had made him too paranoid.

"How much?"

"Does it matter?"

"You know it does." Hotch hated the firmness of his voice and the way Reid avoided eye contact, but he knew he needed to remain professional. At least Reid was still talking to him.

"At first, it wasn't too much. Just to sleep…" Reid drifted off, turning his head away from his boss. Hotch placed his hand on Reid's arm to draw him back into the conversation.

"And now?" Reid looked at his feet again. _He's ashamed, _Hotch thought.

"Every day. A few times a day. I just wanted to feel better. I wanted to forget, you know?" Hotch did know, but he didn't answer. "And then, I couldn't stop…" Reid admitted, pawing at his face again. Gideon's print out came to Hotch's mind, and he surveyed Reid's shaking body with more interest before speaking.

"You're addicted, Reid." At the word "addicted," Hotch saw Reid's body tense. _He doesn't want to believe this, _Hotch realized. _He's in denial._ Hotch found that he felt the same.

"If that's what you want to call it." Reid scuffed at the ground again as he mumbled a response to the older agent.

"What happens when you don't take the narcotics?" Hotch knew the answer, but he understood Reid needed to hear it aloud to realize how powerless he had become.

"I have withdrawals." Hotch saw Reid's arms instinctively wrap around his stomach, as if by saying he had withdrawals, he could now show it. Based from the shaking and sweating, Hotch could tell Reid wasn't well.

"Is that why you weren't feeling well these past few days?" Reid nodded.

"It's also part of the reason I yelled at you in the cemetery." Hotch met Reid's eyes and recognized the insinuated apology.

"Are you withdrawing right now?" Reid nodded, his face turning whiter in the dim light. _You're that obvious, _his brain taunted.

"How long?" Reid did a quick estimate in his head before answering.

"A little before we landed." He felt his stomach twinge as the plane plummeted downwards and knew that it wasn't just because of the approaching ground and heavier altitudes. To Reid's bewilderment, Hotch nodded and walked to the trunk of his car. Reid watched him grab his overnight bag, shuffle through one of the side pockets, and slam the trunk shut before returning to his side.

"Take these." It was Hotch now who didn't make eye contact as he shoved a small orange container in Reid's hands. The familiar color of the plastic and the clanking from inside told Reid it was a prescription of some sorts.

"These are yours…" Reid trailed off, reading the name of the narcotic on the side. Hotch shrugged.

"I never really take them. They're for my shoulder." He explained. Judging from the weight of the container, Reid figured the bottle had never even been opened.

"Why are you giving me these?" Reid bit his bottom lip.

"You're going to feel a lot worse really quickly." Even as he said it, Reid could feel his temperature rise. Reid did not feel that this situation was real. _Your boss is giving you drugs, _his brain registered. _He's right, though. You'll be pretty sick without them. _Although Reid knew he was an addict on both a physical and mental level, standing in the dimly lit BAU parking lot next to Hotch, who had just supplied him with narcotics, made him realize that this issue that he had been running from and simultaneously chasing after was more dire than he had originally assumed.

"I can't take this whole bottle because-." Reid admitted.

"You'll take them all?" Hotch finished Reid's sentence for him, meeting Reid's eyes that answered before he did. As Reid handed him the bottle, Hotch tried to ignore his disbelief. It was full, meaning there were about 30 pills inside. He handed Reid ten.

"For tonight and for your drive tomorrow." Reid closed his palm around the white ovals after shoving three in his mouth and swallowing them effortlessly. Hotch tried to hide his surprise again. Exactly how blind had he been?

"My apartment-"

"I'll make all the arrangements." A thin streak of dawn began to rise at the edge of the field. The two men stood quietly for a while, watching the day begin to light the sky.

"I don't know how…what…" Reid spoke first, letting his words end, feeling the drug-induced bliss surging through his veins. _Why are you so bad at this? _He wondered.

"I'm really sor-" He tried again, but was interrupted by Hotch again.

"You don't have to, Reid." Reid's posture eased with the assertion he would not have to find words to apologize to Hotch. He studied the colors of the new day with a detached interest and wondered when, or if, he'd ever rejoin the world and value anything beautiful or natural again. Right now, everything around him felt hazy, disjointed, and exhausting. Reid just wanted to sleep and, he realized, he wouldn't mind not waking up either. _This isn't you, _he rationalized. _You're an addict, and it's thinking for you now. It has been for a while. _He felt more tears and stopped wiping them away. Something told him that in the upcoming months, he'd be crying a lot.

The older agent surveyed the young man in front of him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled how he had once introduced Reid as _"the expert in, well, everything."_ Now, he realized, it had been partially right. Reid was an expert on many things simply because he knew many things. He was the team's walking, talking computer. If they were on a case and needed statistic, it was Reid they turned to for an answer. If the team needed help with a code of a geographical profile, it was Reid they assigned it to, and, Hotch knew that the team, and he himself, valued Reid's intelligence. It was an asset, but, now, watching the young man in front of him whose face was damp and body shaking, he felt a certain twinge of responsibility. He was young, very young, in the grand scheme of things both for the FBI and for the world itself. _This isn't your fault, _his brain told him, although he felt otherwise. Hotch bit his lip before he spoke.

"Reid, I'm so sor-"

"You don't have to apologize either," he told the older agent, meeting his eyes. Hotch gave him a small smile.

"Come on, Spencer. I'll drive you home." Reid didn't bother to wonder why, for the first time ever, Hotch had used his first name; instead, he followed him to the car. No more words were exchanged, but neither agent seemed to mind as they rolled down the windows, allowing the cool air and early morning deew to seep into their pores, refreshing their skin and minds with its chill. In a far off horizon, a canvas of pinks and yellows accented the edge of the world. Light, muddled with heavy eyelids of night, began to bring the road ahead into a variety of shapes and forms. And around the two men, the night ended and the new day began.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for all your comments and insights. This next chapter is somewhat of a filler, but there's more to come. Enjoy! :)**

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_"I am held together by clothes pins and tension-a wealth of odds and ends...I'll shed what escape my fiction provided. I lived a lifetime inside my shelter and I thought it about time to see outside."-Matt Nathanson "All Been Said Before."_

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Reid's apartment was dark, quiet, and the air felt stuffy, as if it had been stagnant too many days. After he heard Hotch pull out of the apartment parking lot into the empty street, Reid thought about cleaning, sleeping, or watching TV. When none of those choices appealed to him, he took two more of Hotch's pills, opened a window, grabbed a beer from the six pack in the fridge, and sat at his kitchen table. The only sounds he recognized were the ticking of the wall clock, and his neighbor's downstairs cat, meowing to be let in. It was only 5:30 A.M., so Reid figured that cat still had about a half hour.

_This place is gross, _Reid thought while surveying the confines of his empty apartment. The sink was full of dirty dishes, although Reid could not remember the last time he actually ate a meal at home. On the counter next to the dishes, were empty beer bottles. Judging from its unidentifiable marks, the kitchen floor needed sweeping and a good washing. The table in front of him was littered with books, bills, and a few pieces of blank paper that Reid had scribbled on. The one closest to him appeared to be a quote of some kind, but Reid could neither make out the words nor could he remember writing it down. Deciding to see how the rest of the apartment faired, Reid grabbed another beer and headed to the living room.

A thick layer of dust covered the coffee table, which also held an assortment of half empty glasses, beer cans, and books. The TV set sat on top of a series of shelves and, when Reid took a closer look, he saw more beer cans mixed with his favorite movies. The bookcase across the room appeared cleaner, but Reid figured that was because he had been too messed up to read. On the desk next to the bookcase, his laptop sat unused and layered with dust; however, the desk drawers were open and the contents were strewn about, as if someone had been frantically searching for something. _Did I do that looking for drugs? _Reid asked himself. Turning towards the couch, he saw the familiar pillow and rumpled bedspread. On his walls, the pictures of the BAU team, his mother, and a few random scenes from nature remained standing, only weighted down by even more dust.

_Your room is horrible, _he reminded himself, his feet already heading down the small wooden floor to the hallway.

Reid's room was, indeed, the center of the storm. Clothes, both dirty and clean, were strewn everywhere, as if a tornado had ripped through the closet and dressers. The nightstand was home to more beer cans and empty bottles, and Reid's bed only had one sweat stained sheet, as his comforter and pillow were on the couch. The bookcase in this room had not remained as pristine as the one in the living room, and Reid saw an entire shelf thrown to the ground. He vaguely remembered grabbing the books in a high and throwing them every which way.

The closet door stood open and Reid saw what he previously had no recalled. Empty hangers sat unused, and clothes covered shoes on the floor. On the top shelf, a photo album lay open, its pointy binding sticking out into the open. _I was looking at pictures, _Reid figured, grabbing at the book to try and remember whatever it was he had been doing the last time he was home.

The pages were open to pictures of the team from the annual FBI barbecue. _This was a few weeks after Hankel, _Reid figured. In the pictures, he looked thin, although he knew he had lost a substantial amount of weight since then. It had been a sunny, fall day, and having never really been one for outside events, Reid had sat at a picnic table, picking at a plate of potato salad. He remembered he had been slightly hungover and he had been grateful the sun had been out so he had an excuse to keep his sunglasses over his bloodshot eyes. The next photos that followed were of the egg toss that JJ had insisted Reid enter with her. He had been just as surprised as she was when they won.

_This is where you started to lose it, _he thought, tracing the edges of the photos with his fingertips. They had just returned from a case in New Orleans, and Reid remembered how Ethan told him that if he could tell something was up, then his team certainly could. At that moment, Reid had panicked. The ice cold knowledge that he was not unreadable had overwhelmed his senses. Reid knew he wasn't able to have a blank expression like Hotch, but sitting in the bar ignoring phone calls from his coworkers, he remembered he wished he was anyone but himself. He wished he had never heard of the FBI, Tobias Hankel, or Dilaudid. He hated himself with such an intensity that was only heightened after he lied to Gideon, who had come to find him. It had been stupid to miss the plane and even stupider to assume no one would care. They had cared, Reid remembered, but they weren't there with him at night. They didn't have dreams about the cool, slight pinch of a needle entering their veins. In their waking lives, they didn't hear "_There's only one shot left in that gun, boy." _No, Reid figured, Tobias Hankel didn't chase his teammates around, and he vowed that he would be damned if he let them know that Hankel was wrapping his presence around Reid so tightly that he was beginning to forget where he ended and the experience in Georgia began.

Reid slammed the book shut before shoving back on the highest shelf. Now, he figured, they all knew. Turning his attention back to his apartment, Reid realized he still had not explored the bathroom, but he knew it would be just as messy, if not messier, than the rest of his apartment. Reid thought of his desk at work and its neat appearance: folder and files stacked in either the "to do" or "completed" wire bins. The pencils and pens in their holder. A picture of he and his mother at his high school graduation was dust free and angled so he could see it while he typed. There was even a coaster for his always-full coffee mug, which had his name stuck on the side. _How is it, _Reid wondered, _your work space is so neat but your home life is in shambles? _

"I wanted to fool everyone." He realized out loud, surveying the mess in front of him. Then, another thought came to his mind: Hotch was going to take care of his apartment. _I can't let him see this shit, _Reid thought, heading towards the kitchen for some cleaning supplies. _They can help me all they want, but I'm responsible for this mess._

The morning sun was in full effect by the time Reid had finished cleaning. He swept and mopped the floors, made several trips to his building's basement to do his laundry, ran the dishwasher, dusted and wiped everything, placed the books back on their shelves, the movies in alphabetical order, and the desk drawers to their tracks. Reid sorted through bills, wrote and mailed checks, and filled four sagging garbage bags with empty bottles, which he placed on the curb for the recycling trucks. Reid changed the sheets on his bed, returned the comforter and pillows, and cleaned all the counter tops. In the bathroom, he bleached the floor, tub, and sink, and emptied the medicine cabinet of everything except band aids and multivitamins. After a final trip to the curb to deposit three bags of trash, Reid grabbed his now clean clothes out of the dryer and what he didn't fold and place in their drawers, he packed into a to go bag. When his head hurt, he took two more pills, drank two more beers, and pocked the final three pills for the car ride.

Although his body ached from lack of sleep and the physical exertion of cleaning such an enormous mess, Reid spent a long time in shower, nursing his last can of beer and allowing the hot water to create withered lines in his hands. By the time he felt clean, the mirror was fogged over, and Reid didn't bother to rub its layer away before turning on the fan and exiting the room. He sat in his towel for a few minutes before changing into a pair of jeans, a forest green t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. It wasn't his usual attire, but he didn't mind for once. The clean apartment was now a stark contrast to the turmoil he had once lived in. Reid rubbed the towel over his sopping strands of hair, returning to the bathroom to place it to dry on a hook. Only then did he allow himself to look at his own reflection.

His newly shaven face was worn, almost as if he had aged far more than his mid twenties. The skin clung tightly to his cheek bones, which were sinking inwards. But it was his own eyes that scared Reid. There were the same hazel cover they had been his whole life, but there was no spark in them. Reid realized that he couldn't remember the last time he wanted to read, to learn, or to even laugh. Through the open window, he heard the approaching city bus screech to a halt at the stop across the street. Children's voices wafted through, carried by the crisp air. Someone outside laughed, and Reid breathed deeply at the richness of the sounds. When, exactly, had he begun to feel like such a stranger to the world?

The digital clock on his bedside said 11:50. Earlier, when Reid was elbow deep in dirty clothing, Hotch had called to explain that Morgan would arrive at noon. In his last ten minutes as an addict, Reid set his bag by the door and then retreated to the couch. The room around him shone in the mid-morning sun that was spilling through the windows, and Reid felt some of the tension leave his body. He'd go, get better, and return to a clean apartment. _A new beginning, _he hoped.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi everyone. Again, I apologize for having to repost this entire story. As of 7/11/10, this is the newest chapter (along with chapter 15). **

**Thanks again for all the reviews and insights. It makes me want to write more, and, of course, to make the story even better. I really appreciate everything. :) Happy reading.  
**

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"_And I don't need no secrets. I give up on lies, and if it's gonna rain, I'd rather know than be caught lying. And headlights on highways cannot help me understand. Whatever it is you need, I pray I am."-Ron Pope "Headlights on Highways"_

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Morgan did not waste time in the parking lot once the team returned to the BAU the night before, but he made sure Reid knew that the time to tell Hotch was that night. Before he drove home, Morgan met Hotch's eyes and disappeared before anyone could see the tears in his own. The next day at the BAU, he wasn't surprised when Reid didn't show up for work. He was equally unfazed when Hotch announced Reid would be taking some time off. He was surprised, however, when Hotch approached him.

"You won't find it unexpected the Reid's entering rehab." Morgan nodded at his superior, wondering his thoughts on everything.

"I'm glad he's getting help."

"He wants you to take him." At first, Morgan wasn't sure he heard his boss right, but the stern look he was receiving told him otherwise.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Morgan didn't know why Hotch was staring at him in such a resolute way, but it was making him extremely uncomfortable.

"When we finished talking this morning, I drove Reid home, and he specifically asked for you, Derek." Morgan looked down. _What if I fail him? _At that moment, Morgan couldn't help his self-deprecating thoughts any more than Hotch could help profiling him.

Hotch watched Morgan's face twist into a series of emotions he was surprised to see, but recognized all the same: first, came surprise, and then sadness, which was followed by anger, but all were hidden behind denial, which Hotch understood. When he returned home in the very early morning hours the night before, he poured himself a glass of scotch that he did not drink. He had watched the liquid for some time, wondering how and why he could stop when others, and now Reid, could not. The answer had not arrived, and dawn found him standing in a rumpled suit with tired eyes and an even tireder heart.

"He trusts you. I don't know what transpired between you two during the last case, but Reid needs you right now." Morgan met his boss's eyes.

"What..." he cleared his throat, which had suddenly filled with more emotion than Morgan would have liked in any type social situation. Hotch simply waited, as if he knew what was coming. In a way, Morgan figured he did.

"What if I fail?" Morgan finally asked. Hotch raised his eyebrows.

"All you have to do is drive him, Morgan. If you crash the car, we can discuss it then." If Morgan wasn't so tired, he would have sworn Hotch just made an actual joke.

"You know that's not what I mean, Hotch." Hotch let out a slow sigh before speaking.

"You could very well fail. It's always a possibility." The older agent agreed, meeting Morgan's eyes and, for a moment, Morgan saw what made Hotch a good leader. With those eyes, Morgan figured Hotch could inspire an army to fight a battle they were sure to lose.

"But," Hotch continued, choosing his words carefully. "My guess is you already succeeded. Without you, Reid wouldn't have even asked for help." He paused for a moment to watch this fact sink in. It didn't surprise Hotch that Morgan was doubting himself right now. Hotch would never admit this, but he was too. _We missed this, _he thought. _We should have done something much sooner._

"Yeah, you're right." Morgan spoke softly.

"That's good because I already told Reid you would pick him up at noon." This time, Hotch did smile, and Morgan rolled his eyes, returning the smile.

"Come on," Hotch motioned for Morgan to follow him to his office. "We'll look at the route together."

Now, sitting the his car, idling outside of Reid's apartment, Derek Morgan felt the familiar doubt creep back into his mind. This whole thing felt so surreal it couldn't actually be happening. _Is Reid really addicted to drugs or is this just a dream I'll wake up from any time now? _Morgan asked himself. Deep down, however, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. He took a few deep breaths before exiting the car and heading towards the door.

It was exactly 12 when Morgan knocked softly on Reid's apartment door. From the outside, Morgan heard the distinct sounds of Reid's feet as he entered the hallway. The handled turned, and Morgan was greeted by the clean-shaven, tired-eyed Reid, who mumbled a soft hello before reaching into a hall closet to grab a fleece. Morgan stepped onto the porch, waiting for Reid to exit and lock the door behind him.

"Can you, uhh, give these to Hotch?" He handed Morgan his keys. "He said he'd take care of my apartment for me." Morgan nodded yes, and the two men walked towards the car. Before he climbed into the passenger's seat, Reid reached deep into his pocket and felt the edges of the white, oblong pills. _You'll make it there. _He reassured himself, climbing inside and snapping his seat belt into place. _You'll be there someday._

Morgan was surprised when a Reid answered the door wearing a green t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. For the first time, Morgan thought Reid looked like any person in his/her mid twenties, and that fact alone made him second guess his doubt over the present situation. What was even more shocking, Morgan came to realize, was Reid's silence. Never in his time knowing Reid, had Morgan heard him so quiet. Morgan had expected Reid to do what he usually did during long trips. He had been prepared for the barrage of statistics and irrelevant facts, but had been taken back when Reid preferred the window and the images outside the small glass over his normal pastime. In the silence that enveloped the car, Morgan could not place nor understand the sadness that filled him whole.

Reid watched the scenery file by from the outside world. Apartment buildings and homes with well-kept lawns and flower beds soon blurred into lone farms and far in between towns. He trusted Hotch with the arrangements, and now he was wondering if he had instead told Morgan to take Reid to the farthest corner of society so he no longer would be the FBI's screw up. Glancing at Morgan who had one hand on the steering wheel and the other drumming to beat of the music against his leg, he knew that wasn't true. Neither man spoke, but Reid found he didn't mind. He needed this time to speculate what would happen once Morgan drove away and he was left alone. _What if I fail? _Reid asked himself.

Morgan stole sideways glances at Reid, who sat pensively staring out the window. He knew Reid was lost in thought, and he wished he could figure out what to say. Reid looked less distraught than he had in the hotel bathroom, but the sadness was still etched into the lines on his face and his sleep-deprived eyes. How could he tell Reid that he'd get through this, and that he had six others supporting him? A few times, Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed as though words could not comprehend the situation at hand. So he drove over mountains, by streams and forests, traveling deeper and deeper into the country.

They finally arrived with sore legs and a heavy silence two hours later. The brick building through a wrought iron double gate in front of them wasn't too large, but it was impressively set on a wide expanse of land. To the right of what Morgan guessed were dormitories, was a set of farmland. The workers were so far away that they looked like specks among the hills. The tall, stone building drew closer, and Reid grew smaller in his seat. His stomach twisted around itself and he wondered if it was the beginning of withdrawals or if it was nervousness. He had taken the remaining pills Hotch gave him halfway through the drive, knowingly fending off the sickness that would soon arrive. Morgan pulled the car into a spot marked for visitors. He let the engine run for a moment before he twisted the key to the left.

"We're here, Reid." Morgan spoke first, breaking the two-hour stillness. Reid nodded, his eyes never leaving the window. A thin woman wearing nursing scrubs exited the front of the building, heading towards the car. Reid figured she had been expecting his arrival. Without a word, he and Morgan got out of the car and went to its trunk, removing Reid's to go bag.

"You must be Dr. Reid?" The nurse questioned, extending her hand. Reid nodded yes, waved instead of shaking her hand, and immediately shoved his hands into his pockets. The nurse wasn't abashed by Reid's lack of physical contact and her eyes traveled to Morgan and back to Reid. Having experience in these kinds of things, she spoke with kindness.

"I'll let you two say your goodbyes." She turned, and the two men watched her walk halfway up the path, seating herself on a bench between two large rose bushes.

"You ready for this?" Morgan asked. Reid didn't answer and instead kicked some dirt at his feet. Morgan wanted to reassure him somehow because the Reid in front of him looked more frightened than he ever had before.

"I-" Reid let one word escape his lips, but then closed them. His bottom lip trembled. Why did he feel so broken?

"It's normal to be scared." Morgan spoke quietly and a voice that calmed Reid. He felt his tense shoulders ease down to a normal position.

"I know."

"Just work on getting better, alright?" Reid nodded at Morgan's words because the lump in his throat had forced its way back up. "We're all here for you, you know that." There was more silence for a moment, as neither man knew what to say.

"I'm gonna go now." Reid told his shoes and without another word or glance in Morgan's direction, he turned and headed towards the front doors. He wanted to say a more profound goodbye, but the ball of emotion lodged in his throat stopped any normal response. _This really isn't a normal situation, _he thought, attempting to ease the guilt he felt. _Morgan understands if I don't, or can't, say goodbye._

Morgan leaned against the car and observed Reid as he trudged towards the building. Reid was walking with a deliberate slowness Morgan had never seen before. His hands were in his pockets, his head downcast, and his shoulders were hunched forward, as if the weight of the day and everything that came with it was too much to carry. An odd sensation filled Morgan just then as he watched the younger man walk away to begin a journey he knew was his own. Reid must have felt this realization too because he stopped and turned towards Morgan, letting his eyes fall on the older agent. There were no exchanged words or gestures of goodbye, but it was then that Morgan understood Reid's fear. He waited until Reid's thin frame disappeared inside the building before turning back towards the car.

Once inside the leather interior, he took a deep breath, turned the key in the ignition, and began the slow descent down the narrow path to the main road. The image of Reid turning back, letting him know, in his own Reid-like way, that he was petrified, made Morgan laugh because it reminded him of a much earlier time:

"_Can you guys do me a favor?" Reid looked at the team standing in front of him. All wore grim expressions, as if they were expecting him to disappear before their eyes._

"_Anything," it was Morgan who spoke through a tone filled with emotions. It was a tense situation. Elle (and other hostages) was currently on a train with a schizophrenic who was heavily armed. The kid was going in there to do some magic trick, and Morgan had a sneaking suspicion that his bullet proof vest would not stay on long, as Reid would do anything to make a violent situation end peacefully._

"_Could at least one of you look like you're going to see me again?" Then, Morgan remembered, their chuckles. How Reid could joke at a time like this, Morgan had no idea, but he was still young and new enough not to comprehend the severity of the situation and what would happen if his plan failed. Then again, Morgan recalled as he watched the younger agent walk away, Reid was smart. He new damn well what was happening and, more appropriately, what could happen. The kid was scared, but he wanted to make sure his team wasn't._

Morgan's memory seemed to become interwoven with the present as he remembered Reid's naive words. In a way, Reid was too smart for his own good. His laughter became so forceful that Morgan pulled the car over next to a field of pumpkins that resembled rows of tangled, green vines. The sky above Derek Morgan had turned a bright blue, and he saw that there were no clouds. He took this as a good sign, and when his laughter turned into tears that had a home he could place, Morgan found that he didn't mind. Leaning his head into the steering wheel, Morgan let the tears come. He cried about what he did not see, what he saw and could not help or change, and what he remembered. He cried for victims, the time they lost, for the time he himself had lost, and the time now in front of Reid. When he stopped and the last of the saline was gone from his puffy, bloodshot eyes, Derek Morgan pulled back onto the road, heading back home without the sensation he had done something wrong. In a way, Morgan realized, he was scared too. The memory of Reid turning towards him came to Morgan's mind with such force that he had to speak to the empty car.

"You'll be alright, kid." Maybe, he figured, Reid could hear it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Before everyone reads this chapter and the ones that follow, please be aware of the following: while I've done some research on drug addiction and rehabs, what I write about drug detox, rehab, and rehab facilities, in general, is my own creation. I've tried to make it realistic, but I'd like to think I have some kind of license to be imaginative. I mean, it's fan_fiction. _I'm just taking the fiction part at a greater weight. :)**

**Also, if any of you are at all triggered by anything mentioned above, I'd caution on reading this chapter and the chapters to come. While I value and enjoy the support, reviews, adds, and constructive criticism, I think personal well being, whether physical or mental, is more important.**

**And, lastly, thank you to everyone who re-reviewed, added, alerted, etc. to this story. And a huge thanks to theluckyllama17, who edited and checked this (and the following) chapters. Enjoy this chapter-a longer one's up next. :)  
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"_Words can be spoken for a lifetime. We can never hear until we're told. Just a temporary remedy is running through my veins." -Ben Harper "Temporary Remedy"_

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Spencer Reid was dying. Or, at least, that was how he felt. His whole body ached, as if some truck had decided to run him over, repeatedly and with more force each time. The sheets underneath him were soaked with his sweat that had been pouring from every crevice in his body. Sleep pulled and taunted his eyelids, half closing them and, then, when he was almost at its blissful oblivion, his stomach jolted, and he ran to the bathroom to either puke or worse. Sometimes, he was assaulted by both at once, leaving Reid to sit on the toilet while retching into a plastic waste bin the nurse provided.

_This has to end soon, _Reid rationalized, trying to clear his scrambled brain. His thoughts were fragmented and completely unclear, as if they were being submerged under murky water and he was looking down from above. He couldn't keep still, even though the disjointed movement tended to make everything worse. His legs wanted to run away from the withdrawals, the rehab, his situation, or, preferably, all three, and they constantly moved in a jerky running motion on the bed. Reid vaguely processed the sounds and sensations around him: the consistent hum of the heart monitoring machine. The cold water the nurses pressed to his lips and the equally cold clothes they placed on his hot skin. He didn't know how to thank the nurses, but, later on, he recalled speaking to them. Once, he remembered, one had laughed slightly, but he had no recollection of what it was that he said.

When Reid did manage to sleep, his dreams were cloudy images of people that walked around surrounded by white lights and crackling static, as if his perception was similar to a television station that had lost its transmission. Each member of the team made an appearance, and they were watching behind the mirrored wall of an interrogation room while he sent his mother away. Tobias's body was on the floor between the table and the exit, and, when his mother started screaming at the sight, Reid bolted awake, vomiting into the container by his bed because the bathroom was too far.

The sounds of his dreams whispered into Reid's ears. Hotch calmly informed him he'd make all the arrangements, as Gideon reassured him that everyone on the plane had nightmares. Reid wanted to tell his two superiors that he was pretty sure he entered a living nightmare, but, when he tried, the only sound resonating through his detox room was his own hoarse voice, crying out in pain and confusion.

And then gradually, as a new dawn rises after a dark night, Reid felt his body begin to recover. At first, he was able to keep water down. Next, he was able to stomach bits of food. Then, the feeling of his skin trying to crawl away from him receded until, finally, his fever subsided.

"Dr. Reid," a nurse with a wide, toothy smile greeted him. Judging from the sun pouring weakly through cracked the windows, Reid figured it was early morning. A slight breeze traveled to his sweaty cheeks, and Reid closed his eyes, savoring the feeling that the world was returning to its natural order. What day it was and how long he had been in the detox room, he couldn't tell.

"Hello." He tried to return the bright smile and took minuscule bites of the orange jell-o she had given him.

"It seems like you're out of the woods, but let me take your blood pressure and temperature just to be sure." In a moment, she was done and proclaimed that Reid could shower.

"After that," the nurse explained while setting down a bath towel on the nightstand, "We'll show you to your room." Reid nodded because he had no idea what to say.

"Don't worry," she smiled again, surveying the thin, lanky young man in front of her. "This is the hard part." She placed a fragrant bar of soap on top of the towel before putting his suitcase on a chair adjacent to the bed. Reid assumed while he had been detoxing, his bag had been searched for any illicit substances. He took a long time in the shower, delaying the inevitable. Something told him that what came next would not be as easy as the optimistic nurse said it would be.


	18. Chapter 18

**Again, as a warning, I have limited knowledge of rehab facilities. I don't even know if places like the one I described below even exist. That being said, this is all my poetic license, so you've all be warned.**

**Thanks again to theluckyllama17 for the editing :) Have a great weekend everyone!  
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_"I'm not quite sure how I got here. A minute passed and I'm on my feet…I'm not quite sure when I woke up. The night flew by as I lay asleep…I need a minute. Just a moment to breathe."- O.A.R. "Risen"_

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"First day?" A New York accent asked. Reid looked up from his plate of food to see a short, stout, dark-haired middle aged man sitting across from him. While Reid was surprised that the man chose to do so, he did not complain. Reid figured company was a smart idea because his empty table surrounded by conversing people was causing Reid to feel as though he was back in high school, eating lunch alone. Around the two men, the cafeteria sounds echoed of the white walls and high ceilings: the scrap of plastic utensils against microwavable plates, the murmured chatter of other patients, and the movement of quick eaters who were in a hurry to start their free time. Patients weren't granted much free time, other than lunchtime and sparse moments in the early morning, evening, and late night, and, it seemed to Reid that most ate as quickly as possible in order to savor what was left of their personal freedom. Reid, however, did not know what to do, and, although he felt famished, he picked at the food in front of him.

"Yeah," he replied as he watched the man shoveling spaghetti into his mouth at an alarming rate. "Is it that obvious?" The man gulped some of his milk from a blue and white carton before speaking.

"You look like you're gonna shit your pants, kid." Reid couldn't help but laugh along with the man's booming chuckles.

"Name's Tony DiMatro." He extended his hand outwards, not giving Reid a chance to use his accustomed wave, and Reid shook it wearily and quickly, surprised by Tony's forceful grip.

"Spencer," he returned his hands to his sides. "Spencer Reid." Reid figured they would have talked more if a very tall, lanky man did not sit down on the chair next to his.

"New?" the man asked, eyeballing Reid before shoving chunks of peaches into his mouth. _When I finally leave here, _Reid told himself, _I will not eat like these two._

"Uhh yeah. Spencer Reid." Mike held out his hand again, and Reid was forced to endure another bout of physical contact. Just when he thought the weirdness was complete, a beautiful woman sat next to Tony. What the hell was going on? _Normal people, _Reid thought. _Do not just sit down with others they don't know. And beautiful woman definitely don't sit down at a table with me. _Then again, Reid figured, he was in a rehab facility, where no one was entirely normal.

"I'm Mike Lamburg." The man next to Reid said. Mike looked to be about mid thirties, with light brown hair, piercing green eyes, and a well-defined athletic figure that added an aspect of youth to his overall impression.

"I'm Madeline." To Reid's relief, the woman did not extend her hand forward, and he waved, internally grateful for the lack of physical contact. Surveying his newest dining companion, Reid was startled by her deep blue eyes and long, blond hair that she wore in a messy braid that hung down to the center of her back. With a sudden pang of sadness, JJ came to Reid's mind. Madeline's well-tailored jeans clung to her thin frame, accentuating her jutting hipbones. Her royal blue, long-sleeved shirt was also form fitting, and its coloring made her blue eyes all the more vivid. Her skin was the same color as light cream, and although she wore little make up, judging from the well-concealed lines around her eyes, Reid knew Madeline was older than he was. He glanced at her hands, which was void of a wedding ring or any other jewelry, and estimated she was around Hotch's age.

"You didn't tell me your last name," Reid addressed Madeline, who smiled briefly.

"Old habit." It suddenly felt as though the table and its occupants were familiar to Reid, although he was not sure how or why.

"Is it" he began, biting into his salad which, surprisingly, wasn't that bad. "A thing to sit with the new kid?" Tony met Mike's eyes and they laughed. Madeline sipped her water delicately.

"You can say that. I mean, some people we don't sit with, like..." Tony craned his neck over the heads of the other diners before continuing. "That guy over there," Tony pointed at a man eating alone, and Reid turned around to get a better look. The man sat at an empty table, gripped an unused knife in one hand, shoved food into his mouth with his fork that was held in the other, and did not take his hawk-like stare off the others in the cafeteria.

"Interesting." Reid mumbled, looking away.

"We definitely wouldn't approach him." Tony finished explaining.

"I can see why," Reid commented. "He looks paranoid."

"That's 'cause he is," Mike agreed. "Fifteen years deep undercover will do that to you. That messes with your head way too much for you to be normal again" Reid's brain began to jump-start to life, and his dining companions began to make sense. No wonder they seemed familiar.

"Wait..." he started."Undercover? As in law enforcement?" Madeline laughed in a throaty, lofty way that suggested to Reid that she knew some secret that others did not. For some reason Reid could not identify, goose bumps prickled his flesh at the sound of it.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured this out yet, Dr. Reid." Reid did not remember introducing himself as Dr. Reid. _How did she know that? _He asked himself incredulously.

"No one told you about this place?" Mike asked, sounding stunned.

"I mean, I knew you were smart and all..." Madeline trailed off as she noticed Reid saw the flatness in her eyes. They were dead, as if practice had created the superficial cover or as if something terrible had. He figured it was a cross between both.

"You're all involved in law enforcement?" Reid asked, attempting to quell the anxiety pumping through his veins. The three strangers sitting in front of him confirmed his conclusion with slight head movements up and down.

"I was a detective," Tony started with a faint trace of pride in his voice. "NYPD. Special victims."

"I was on the force for twenty years," Tony stopped for a minute, swallowing deeply before continuing. "I'm also an alcoholic. It's a good thing they stopped me, you know, kid?"

"Yeah, I know." Reid agreed. It was weird, but Reid didn't mind that Tony called him "kid."

"They said that I could either come here for help or that I could lose my job. I chose this, and here I am." Tony laughed boisterously again, although Reid did not understand what was so funny.

"I worked for the Department of Defense," Mike went next, as if this was an old routine the three had between them. "Special operations." Mike's muscular figure made sense to Reid now.

"I was in Iraq." Mike did not meet his eyes and Reid understood that whatever had happened to him there had been difficult to both process and, therefore, to deal with. "Cocaine." Mike raised his eyes to look at Reid, who nodded to show his attentiveness. All three men turned to face Madeline, who was picking at her bread.

"You mean you haven't figured it out yet, Dr. Reid?" Reid studied her features and the blankness emanating outwards for a moment before speaking.

"You're CIA." He said finally. She nodded yes, confirming he was correct.

"How the hell did you know that?" Tony demanded, sounding awed. Reid didn't really know how he knew, but her facade had told him she had been under a shroud of secrecy too long. In a way, he was reminded of Prentiss and Hotch's calm, cool demeanors, but even those two members of his team were not completely stoic. Every so often, a crack in their covers would show an emotion, even if just for a fleeting moment. However, the woman in front of Reid looked as though she had forgotten what feelings were many years ago.

"Lucky guess," he shrugged. "Also, CIA agents don't typically give their last names." Tony met Mike's gaze, and Reid couldn't help but notice the look of surprise and trepidation the two shared.

"You're CIA?" Tony asked, clearly uncomfortable. Reid shook his head no, but before he could correct him, Madeline spoke.

"He works for the FBI," Madeline explained. "In the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Better known as the BAU." Reid nearly choked on his water.

"She's right," he told the two men once he had managed to swallow the liquid. "I'm a profiler."

"How old are you, kid?" Reid ignored the question, feeling his cheeks turn red.

"Don't let his youth fool you." Madeline grinned in a way that made Reid's exposed flesh prickle once more. "He's a genius with three doctorates."

"Really?" Mike turned toward Reid, who noted that his voice sounded genuinely interested. He felt as though he were on display. Madeline, whoever she was, was making him extremely anxious.

"My IQ's 187." Reid acknowledged, but did not contribute anything else about any other abilities, preferring to squirm awkwardly in his chair.

"Holy shit," Mike let out a breathy, impressed sentence. Reid saw Tony's eyebrows rise.

"Nice to have met you, Dr. Reid." Madeline met his eyes for another chilling second before grabbing her tray and walking to the front of the room. The three men watched her return it at the drop off station before sauntering out the door leading to the grounds.

"Don't worry about her, kid." Tony shrugged, offering an explanation for Madeline's odd behavior. "She's a hottie, but a bit coocoo."

"She knew everything about me." Reid stammered.

"You said it yourself," Mike lifted one eyebrow. "CIA."

"So what's her story then?" Reid queried. "If she's in here, something isn't right." The two older men exchanged knowing looks before Mike spoke.

"As far as we know, she's not addicted to anything." Reid opened his mouth to question what a patient at an addiction treatment center would be doing there without an addiction, but he shut it again when Mike continued.

"But something happened to her. Something that affected her job enough for her to be placed here by a superior."

"_I'll make all the arrangements." _Hotch's voice came floating back to Reid's thoughts.

"She had some kind of breakdown." Tony muttered with a hint of nervousness in his voice. "I mean, I, for one, can't even look into her eyes." Reid nodded forcefully. Her eyes had reminded him of countless criminals.

"They're dead." Mike agreed. "I saw guys like that in Iraq a lot. It's like the life just left them. They go through the motions, you know what I mean?" Both Reid and Tony nodded. "But they're shells." In the back of his mind, Reid felt something jump-start to life. How or why he understand Mike's words, he could not verbalize, although he nodded his head to confirm knew the feeling.

"So," Tony began in a much lighter tone. "Let me try to do some profiling of my own." Reid smiled and sat back in his seat. Now that creepy Madeline was gone, he felt much more at ease.

"Alright, go ahead." Reid acceded. In his experience, most law enforcement, government or not, could profile decently.

"You're very young, but seeing as your smart and all, I'm guessing it's nothing too mind bending?" Impressed, Reid nodded, signaling for Tony to continue.

"My guess is," Mike had jumped on board with Tony's idea too. "That you've seen some crazy things." Reid nodded again, but this time his lips did not extend upwards.

"That's part of the job, yes." He agreed. The two men nodding, understanding more than Reid realized.

"You're not a big drinker, but that will do if you can't get what you need." Reid was a bit taken back. _Are you that transparent? _He asked himself.

"How'd you know?" He asked. Tony grinned, excited to have stumped the table's resident genius.

"The whites of your eyes aint yellow." He pulled his eyelid up to reveal a slight twinge the same mucky color of urine. "If you've been drinking long enough-"

"Your liver stops processing alcohol" Reid couldn't help but explain. "Excess bilirubin is sent into your bloodstream by the red blood cells. Normally, your liver breaks this down and it leaves your body as waste, but if drinking has destroyed…" Reid stopped because both Tony and Mike were staring at him in disbelief.

"Sorry," he tried to apologize. "Bad habit." Mike chuckled, and Tony nodded. _Not everyone thinks your tangents are acceptable, _Reid scolded himself.

"Anyway, back to profiling you, kid." Tony pretended to be thinking real hard as he stroked his non-existent beard on his chin. "You're not here for pot because that's a pansy drug." Next to Reid, Mike snorted, clearly amused.

"So, kid." Tony debated. "That leaves us with heroin, coke, or narcotics."

"Something tells me that you need to use that big brain of yours on your job a lot." Reid nodded, recognizing immediately were Tony was heading. "So, you're not into heroin because that stuff just makes you a wreck."

"You're skinny, though." Mike pointed out. "So maybe coke?" Tony shook his head. Reid restrained his smile. Despite his rough, up-front style, Reid figured Tony was a formidable detective, who was smarter than criminals assumed he was.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, you're right, Mike, he's thin, but..." Tony searched for the right wording. "Coke would be way too obvious on his job. He'd be running around, spewing out ideas way too quickly, even for him." Mike nodded, understanding too.

"Narcotics." Tony placed both his hands on the table with a defiant slap that made Reid jump.

"Congratulations," Reid told Tony with a broad smile. "You'd make a great profiler." Tony grinned in triumph.

"Well done," Mike shook Tony's hand in a mock celebration.

"You were saying," Reid began. "This place is for law enforcement?" He wanted desperately to bring the conversation away from himself before Tony and Mike dug any deeper.

"Yup," Mike took a bite of a sugar-encrusted cookie before continuing. "Everyone in here is FBI, CIA, detectives, covert ops-you get the drift"

"No civilians then? As in, no people off the street?" Reid asked. Tony shook his head no.

"Nope. This is only a place you get to go to if you know someone on the inside." Tony explained, tapping his head knowledgeably. Reid looked around. There were still about 50 people in the cafeteria, even with the constant migratory flow to the grounds. This place was much larger than he anticipated.

"You work with good people in the FBI." Tony mentioned.

"What makes you say that?" Reid asked. Mike surveyed the young man before speaking.

"They want you to get better. They wouldn't have sent you here otherwise. This place," he ushered outwards with his hands. "Is top notch. The doctors alone are outstanding, not to mention the groups and other psycho-babble bullshit they use is really effective." Even though his language was coarse, Reid could detect the sincerity in Mike's words.

"Plus, if they send you here," Mike clarified through the last bites of his cookie, "you don't lose your job. I mean, you may be stuck doing some dull shit for a while, but you get to go back." Reid hardly heard Mike's words. He had no idea a place like this even existed.

"Yeah, kid." Tony agreed. "No one in this room got here without someone else's referral." Reid sat quietly for a moment, blinking away tears that had spring from nowhere. _Hotch was looking out for me, _he realized.

"You're right- my team is really great," he agreed once the tears had disappeared as quickly as they come. "They're really supportive." Both men nodded in mutual understanding.

"Then," Tony's voice was suddenly soft and husky with emotion. "Make'em proud, kid."


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi everyone. :) Thanks again for all the reviews and adds. And thanks again to Theluckyllama17 for editing. Enjoy!**

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"_Tonight, I'm writing you a million miles away…and I can't forget your style and your cynicism. Somehow, it was like you were the first to listen to everything we said…my hands are tied to pages inked to bring you back." –Fall Out Boy "Homesick at Space Camp"_

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Penelope Garcia slammed her personal laptop shut with a deafening smack that surprised even her. It was uncharacteristic of her to be so upset and outwardly angry, but she couldn't help it. The last few weeks had been incredibly stressful, and her mind could not get the images from the latest case out of her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, the blood and bodies assaulted her memory. In Garcia's living room, the dark night sky poured through the windows, muting the usually brightly-colored walls and decorations into a series of indistinguishable shadows. The melancholy setting made it all too easy for past recollections to make their way to the forefront.

_**A few weeks prior:**_

"_Everyone, before we talk about this next case, I need to have your attention for a moment." From her seat next to Morgan, Penelope saw everyone's eyes turn towards Agent Hotchner. Why, Garcia questioned then, had her stomach immediately tied in knots?_

"_Reid has decided to take some time off to regroup." If Garcia thought she was the only one at the round table holding her breath, the collective release from her teammates told her otherwise._

"_Good." Morgan nodded his head firmly. Across the table, Gideon glared angrily at the floor, as if he was shooting fire to Hell itself. Her mind began to turn-something still didn't feel quite right._

"_While he's gone, I want you all to pick up some of his usual assignments. Prentiss," Hotch instructed Emily, "You may be doing more geographical profiling." She nodded in understanding._

"_Where is he?" JJ asked in a small voice that told Garcia she was both upset and concerned. Garcia reached to the side Morgan did not occupy and gave JJ's hand a reassuring squeeze. She wasn't surprised when JJ clung to her fingers instead of releasing them._

"_I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say." Hotch's eyes were as stoic as ever._

"_How long will he be gone, sir?" Garcia asked. She was not a profiler, but she knew she could read between the lines as well as anyone else could, and, when something in her gut told her that Reid was not "regrouping" on a tropical island somewhere, she listened to it._

"_Reid will be gone three months," Observing the team's wide eyes, Hotch was cognizant of the fact that most of the team understood most rehabs stays were a standard 90 days. It was a riddle that weighed both Reid's erratic, uncharacteristic behavior with his length of time off, and Hotch knew that his team would figure it out by those coincidences alone._

"_So… 90 days?" Prentiss asked in an emotional, cracked voice that Garcia barely recognized. Hotch nodded resolutely._

"_Yes." There was an immediate, crushing weight in the room before he spoke again. From the way he was staring at his boss, Garcia could tell Morgan already knew. It was also very apparent that Gideon knew because his eyes had not widened in surprise, his lips had not pursed, and, in fact, his stare at the floor was so intense that Garcia wondered why it didn't burst into flames right then and there. JJ had not been as aware as her other coworkers, although Garcia thought she may have had an inkling somewhere in her mind, but it was still a surprise, and Garcia saw the agent's eyes brim with tears as she struggled to keep them inside. Prentiss looked somewhat upset, but her composure was reserved as always. Garcia had to admit that she was a bit shocked, but, in the back of her mind, she realized she was not surprised by Hotch's words. After spending the day with Reid on the last case, her brain had subconsciously put the pieces into place._

"_Reid does not have computer privileges, but he can write letters and we're allowed to call, write, or visit on Sundays, although I strongly recommend not doing so, which is why I'm not sharing the address with any of you." The members of the team did not look at Garcia, but she had a sneaking suspicion she would be asked to find that address in the system before Reid returned. As if he knew his team's thoughts, Hotch continued with his explanation:_

"_This is something Spencer has to do on his own." Garcia heard Morgan's exhausted sigh escape his lips. "He knows we're supporting him." There was more silence and, this time, JJ squeezed Garcia's hand._

_"When, ummm," Prentiss trailed off as the team shifted their attention to her._

_"Yes, Emily?" Hotch glanced at her with soft eyes Garcia did not know existed._

_"I thought I heard somewhere that if you admit to having a drug problem or go into rehab, you can't work here..." Prentiss stopped for a moment, fidgeting in her seat, avoiding eye contact with everyone before continuing. "You know, you can't work for the FBI anymore..." Prentiss looked at the wooden table and Garcia saw her eyes fill with tears that she was futilely trying to hide. She was, Garcia understood, genuinely upset by the fact that Reid could possibly be leaving them forever. In fact, the whole team seemed to be affected by this depressing outcome, as everyone avoided meeting the eyes of another. The room was silent except for Gideon's rhythmic tapping of his thumb against his leg._

_"I can assure you all that Reid is getting the help he needs, and, if he chooses to, he'll return back here. He's in a place that knows how to treat people in this profession." Hotch scanned his team for a few moments before elaborating._

_"Of course, if and when he returns, there may be a probationary period where he'll be doing a lot less field work. It would be the same if any of you were hurt on the job." And, as if some wind had ushered in a billow of change, Prentiss looked upwards at her boss, signaling she was no longer dissolving into pieces. There were a few more moments of silence before Hotch spoke._

"_JJ, tell us about the newest case." Hotch said, turning towards the blond agent. And, just like that, Garcia realized, they kept going._

Garcia's jumped, startled out of her reverie, when she heard her cell phone ring. Glancing at the caller ID, she smiled when she saw it was Morgan.

"Hey, hot lips."

"Hi there, sweet cheeks. I know it's late, but do you want to grab a bite?"

"A bite of you?" Garcia asked. "Absolutely." Across the line, he chuckled.

"Your lips," he joked back, "Would be delicious." Garcia felt herself blush.

"Well, Morgalicious, what do you have in mind?" She purred into the phone.

"I can't sleep, so I'm thinking somewhere with bad coffee?" Morgan explained. Garcia surveyed her darkened living room and the computer sitting in her sweatpants-covered lap. She opened the laptop and saw that it was almost midnight-definitely not too late.

"I was hoping you'd say a romantic stroll by the river followed by champagne and edible body chocolate, but I could go for some burned java and pie. Actually, I know just the place."

"Who said the champagne and chocolate won't come later?" Morgan teased. They made arrangements to meet in twenty minutes, and, after snapping her phone shut, Garcia figured she had time to type a quick email before grabbing her purse and car keys.

_Love of my Nerdy Life,_

_I know you don't have access to email, but I figured this will be a great surprise for you when you get home. Almost like an update on the team and everything else for you to read when you're back! If it were me, I'd be worried about everyone while I was gone and, knowing you, I figure you'll do the same. Since you're going to be gone 90 days and I'm about 14 behind, I'll have to write a lot to catch up!_

_It's late here, and I'm going to meet my hunka burnin' love for a midnight rendezvous involving pie, coffee so bad that even you would turn your nose up at it, and greasy goodness. I wish you were here to join us and explain exactly how this crappy food will clog my arteries._

_I miss you, but you'll be sure to hear about my pining and yearning for walking-books-disguised as-a-human-being in my emails to come. Seriously, though, I miss you more than there are words to explain._

_Love,_

_Penelope_

Garcia smiled to herself before clicking send. Granted, there would be a lot of emails to read through, but Reid read fast. It wasn't like she was going to _visit _Reid. She knew Hotch would have her head on a stick if she did. Emails, on the other hand, were not forbidden. In fact, Hotch had mentioned that Reid could write letters and the team should not write letters, but he hadn't said a word about emails. _Who still writes actual letters when they have the Internet? _Garcia pondered in disbelief. _Ignore technology there, Hothcy Boy. _Garcia thought to herself, grinning mischievously in the darkness. She shut the laptop (more softly this time) and prepared to go meet Morgan in a substantially better mood than she previously had been.


	20. Chapter 20

**Before I begin, just a warning: As with writing about addiction and/or rehab, I have never served in the military, been to Iraq, or have been overseas. Whatever I write about those subjects (and any others I warn about), is loosely based on my internet searches, but not personal experience and, therefore, some things may be construed to fit scenes and characters. In no way do I mean this as a sign of disrespect or anything along those lines. Simply, what's below and what follows is a fictional work. If something sounds too unbelievable, let me know and I'll do my best to correct it.  
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**Enjoy the chapter :)  
**

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"_And I cannot guess what we'll discover when we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels, but I know our filthy hands can wash one another's and not one speck will remain."- Death Cab for Cutie "Soul Meets Body"_

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Spencer Reid was a fan of routines. When he was a child, it had been easy to keep things the same because repetition was natural to him, and it was definitely more welcomed than the chaos that encompassed most of his home life. In the morning, Reid would awake to the shrill, intruding alarm clock tones, and shower before proceeding to make his lunch and his mother's breakfast, which he covered and placed on the counter for her. Then, he'd grab his backpack, checking to make sure he had all his work, and walk to school. After classes were done for the day, Reid took the city bus to the public library, stopping to buy a soda or chocolate milk on the way. When he entered the library after climbing a series of granite steps, Reid waved to the librarians and, once surrounded by the shelves of dust and books, he settled into the table in the furthest corner, directly underneath the large windows. He'd finish his homework, which was never too complicated, after which he'd either read for enjoyment or daydream while peering out the high arched panes as the day began to develop into approaching night. However, that was far as his schedule ever took him. Once he returned home and saw whatever peculiar, paranoid, or panicked state his mother was in, any sense of normalcy left him, deflating like air from a balloon. As the years progressed, routine became just a background distraction to the real world, where he was just another working professional, attempting to juggle a serious lack of personal time with the wide array of human atrocities that his job supplied with a never-ending force.

Because of his failed past attempts at order, Reid was not prepared for every minute of every day to be set for him. In rehab, he received an agenda and, he wondered for the first time, if prison inmates had this level of scheduling too. A blaring 7A.M. wake-up call was followed by an hour of free time, in which the patients were allowed to do whatever it was they liked. Reid often got dressed and headed out for a peaceful walk around the grounds while his roommate, Jim, grumbled protests from underneath his sheets about being woken up too early. At 8 A.M., breakfast, followed by Morning Group, which was were the patients set daily goals. After that, half the group went to tend to the on-sight farm while the other half went to a meeting, which Reid was told was either Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, or some deviation of the two. Around noon, the patients had lunch and free time, and then the two sections switched. After their separate afternoon activities, patients had individual therapy before everyone reunited to talk in smaller groups about their days and about the struggles they faced. Finally, it was dinner and more coveted free time before the overhead lights went out around ten. Although Reid had expected to feel confined, he was pleasantly surprised to find he enjoyed the structure.

Reid was in the group that farmed first, and he had been surprised to find that he enjoyed working with the dirt. The fall air was cool, crisp, and the sun warm on his body as he bent down to remove offending weeds, water plants, and to turn the dirt. It was the damp, nutrient rich soil, however, that Reid loved the most. He had never been one for physicality, but he enjoyed sitting in rows of plants and crops, turning the dark earth over and over in his bare hands, watching as it stained his palms and collected under his fingernails. Reid was even more surprised when his patch of land flourished, producing an abundance of gourds and giant, orange pumpkins. Tony and Mike ribbed Reid about his green thumb and his so-called "womanly attention" to plants, but Reid merely grinned through their gentle taunts. He had cultivated plants once before, for an elementary school project on photosynthesis, and he found attending to their growth both calming and oddly satisfying.

Reid also had not expected the serene beauty of the Virginia Mountains. The pale, blue hue surrounded the farm and treatment facility, and whenever Reid walked to the barn to gather supplies, he stopped to take in the sight of the nature around him. Reid had heard the term "God's Land" before, and, lack of religious beliefs aside, Reid could not help but feel that something powerful had set the scenery before his eyes. The trees were so brightly lit with foliage that their colors burned his eyes with a dazzling vibrancy that remained even when closing them. The grass was still emerald green from summer, and the majestic oak woods bordering the property did not frighten him as he had expected. The ancient, sturdy trees concealed an abundance of squirrels, birds, and deer in their shadows. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled against one another, creating a symphony that sounded like sheets of paper being crumpled together. The smell of fresh grass permeated his nostrils, and Reid was most entranced when animals occasionally came to the border of the woods and farmland, causing all the patients to stop to watch the primal beauty before their eyes.

"This," Mike told Reid one day as they bent over a row of vegetables, "Makes me appreciate life again."

"I know what you mean." Reid agreed, wiping the beaded sweat off his brow. He had a good feeling dirt was now streaked across his face.

"Iraq had this weird attraction," Mike began hesitantly, and Reid immediately stopped pruning an unruly plant to look at his companion. Mike rarely divulged anything about his time in combat, and Reid felt a faint sense of responsibility to give Mike his full attention. "It was flat, you know?" Reid, being from Vegas, understood.

"And it was fucking hot. So hot that sometimes we'd cook our eggs outside. Just take the damn pan, break a few eggs open, and sit outside for a minute or two." Mike chuckled softly, letting his eyes fall on the trees and lush surroundings.

"But for its bareness and dryness, it was beautiful. You've never seen a sunset until you've seen one in Iraq. It's like a painting, kid." Mike stopped for a minute to shield his eyes from the sun. "The horizon just goes on forever." The two men were quiet for a moment. The sounds of shovels sifting dirt, the slight fall breeze tickling leaves on trees, and the humming and singing of other patients filled their ears with a soothing presence.

"Sometimes, I feel guilty." Reid admitted to his gardening companion. Mike met his eyes with a look that told Reid it was alright to continue. "I've never really stopped a moment to look around."

"I hear you." Mike agreed.

"I always had school, or papers, or degrees. I studied, read, and got into the FBI the moment I could." Reid looked at his blackened hands and felt the bits of soil in his nail bed. "But this is new to me." To his surprise, Mike laughed quietly.

"I'm used to dirt and physical labor, but," Mike stopped to look at the plants shooting upwards around him. "You're right-this is completely different."

"Do you think that you'll want to go back when you're out of here?" Reid asked, wondering what Mike would say. His farming companion pursed his lips together in thought before speaking.

"I think that the military's a part of me more than I'd like to admit. It's like I don't know where the job ends and I begin." Reid wanted to tell him he knew that feeling in ways he could not verbalize.

"I don't know if they'll put me on the front lines again, but I'm glad I escaped a military rehab..." Mike trailed off, and Reid, knowing what he did about random things, didn't push for him to elaborate. Something told him that Mike openly discussing his job and its effects was not something he did often or willingly.

"I know what you mean," Reid pulled a weed and its tiny roots sent soil scattering across the ground. "I feel like profiling is the one thing I'm really good at, you know, what I was meant to do."

"I thought you were good at everything there, smarty pants." Mike joked. Reid couldn't place why, but he thought of Morgan that instant and had to blink away tears before answering.

"Trust me, it took me forever to even get my gun permit." Mike laughed and the sound echoed around the two men.

"Let me guess," he figured, "You're more of the 'let me talk you down instead of shoot you' type guy?"

"Now," Reid joked while holding a spade with a pink handle in one hand. "What makes you say that?" The two couldn't contain their laughter, and it took a minute for both to compose themselves before speaking again.

"It is surprising, though." Reid said once they had regained their senses.

"What is?" Mike asked.

"This," Reid motioned outwards to the bountiful land around them. "I never imagined I'd end up in rehab or even with a drug problem because some case worked its way in." Mike surveyed him with hard eyes. For a moment, Reid saw him in his uniform, commanding troops with an intensity he found oddly familiar. He bit his lip when Hotch came to mind.

"I don't think anyone plans on being a drug addict," Mike agreed. Reid nodded, swallowing down the emotion in his throat.

"I always figured I was too smart for that," Mike nodded, understanding Reid's words. "But I'm starting to realize that that doesn't mean I'm not vulnerable, especially when someone decides to make you a pawn in his mentally ill game." Mike did not ask, although he was deeply curious about the situation the kid was referencing. It seemed that Spencer had not told his therapist about that situation, and, from the way he talked around the subject, Mike could tell it was still a painful reality for him. With this in mind, he chose his words carefully before speaking.

"I think that's the way life works, kid. You're supposed to be shaken up once and a while. If not, how would you know you're real?" Reid was not prepared for the profoundness of this statement, and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Well, if this works," he began, bending over to work once more-Mike had already started weeding again. "Then I'm not complaining." The two men stayed quiet for the rest of their farming, allowing the sun to extend its rays downward, warming their bodies from a long thaw.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi there readers! Soooo I know it's been a long time, and I just want to apologize for the delay in posting these next two chapters. Besides the fact that my life has been insanely busy, I had both chapters written and they were edited and ready to go and, then, I got inspired and changed a lot of the plot. That being said, theluckylama17 deserves some kind of award for putting up with my always-changing ideas and the many edits that accompanied those changes. Thanks! :)**

**This chapter, and some to follow, deal with some heavy subject matters. Many of you can probably guess that this is an angsty fanfic and, staying true to that, I've added a few things that may make it difficult for some followers to read. As always, fiction and stories are great to read, but mental and physical well-being is always more important. I don't want to give away what will happen, but, know, you've all been warned...**

**Also, as many of you can probably tell by now, I love music and I use lyrics before every chapter. I had a difficult time with the quote before this chapter, as nothing seemed to fit, so if it feels a bit "off", I apologize. Any musical or lyrical suggestions anyone may have are definitely appreciated. I'll listen to and use, pretty much, anything...  
**

**Happy Friday, and enjoy these next two chapters :)**

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"_Honesty is what you need. It sets you free, like someone to save you. Let it go, but hurry now. There's undertow, and I don't want to lose you now." –One Republic "Someone to Save You."_

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Agent Aaron Hotchner thought the problem with being a profiler was that he was always looking for what was there, what wasn't, what was insinuated, and what was hidden. Nothing was as it appeared, and, once Hotch had done the job long enough, he couldn't return to oblivious observation. At that point, he knew too much and saw infinitely more.

But it was worse for Hotch to know he purposefully missed the very thing he was trained to see.

When Hotch walked through Reid's empty, but very clean apartment, about a week or so after the younger agent left for rehab, he wondered what he hadn't noticed, or had denied noticing. Hotch knew he didn't fail to perceive much of anything, so it had felt like a hard punch to his gut when Reid had admitted to having a drug problem. The night in the parking lot, Hotch assumed Reid was going detail his nightmares or struggles acclimating after the Hankel case. Hotch had been on the job long enough to understand that PTSD symptoms made sense given what happened in Georgia. He had observed Reid acting and responding with hyper vigilance, irritability, and withdrawing from the team and their attempts at comfort. Now, standing in Reid's immaculate kitchen, Hotch felt sick when he recognized that PTSD symptoms also paralleled the signs and symptoms of drug abuse.

The thought of Reid possibly being addicted to drugs had crossed Hotch's mind once or twice during the time directly after the Hankel case, but that estimation had been fleeting. Hotch remembered how he rationalized Reid's irrational behavior and snappy comments as the lingering consequences of a traumatic event. It didn't matter that Prentiss came to him one early morning, explaining how Reid wasn't well. It was understandable that the kid had ping pong emotional responses and outbursts. Hotch accepted the dark purple and blue bags outlining Reid's eyes as just another sleepless night, a common casualty of the job. When Reid started dropping alarming amounts of weight and began breaking into random sweats, bolting to the bathroom at odd, unexpected intervals, Hotch assumed that, disregarding the fact that Reid had never exhibited such symptoms before, Reid had had too much crappy break room coffee and it irritated his system, especially because he drank more than the team did combined.

It wasn't that he hadn't suspected and known something serious, but it was more like, Hotch finally realized with a pang of guilt, he hadn't wanted to confront the issues at hand. Doing so would be admitting what Hotch feared: that he, the leader, hadn't taught Reid how to handle the emotional repercussions of cases, particularly circumstances like the Hankel case. Although, in his darkened bedroom at night, Hotch tossed and turned, tangling damp bed sheets, as he wondered if he himself could have dealt with that situation and its aftermath. A few times, Hotch tried to talk to Reid, and, each time, he was met with an icy "I'm fine" or annoyed "Thanks, but I'm ok." There were several instances where he fought the urge to pry because he knew Reid wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. Action didn't occur until a rainy morning. In Reid's blindingly white kitchen, Hotch let his mind wander back to the one coworker he desperately wished he had listened to much earlier, as her concerns were the spark that lit the fire of change:

_**About a month and a half prior:**_

_It was late, very late, and despite the bright overhead light, Agent Hotchner was having difficulty focusing, as his eyelids kept flickering shut at random intervals. He knew he should go home, especially after the last case, but home was becoming more and more hostile with each crime and unsub. Paperwork seemed like a safe alternative to Haley's incessant nagging._

"_Are you busy?" Hotch heard a soft knock and a familiar voice before he looked up from the papers and forms that covered every spare inch of his pine desk. Emily Prentiss stood in the doorframe, appearing as unsure as she did the first day she had arrived at the BAU, clutching a cardboard box in her trembling hands. She was wet from the rain, and Hotch did not know what he was more surprised at: the fact that Emily was at his office even though she had the next day off, the fact that she knew he'd be here, or that it had been raining steadily outside his office window and he hadn't noticed._

"_Yes," Hotch explained with a welcoming, small smile, "But I could use a break." He motioned for Prentiss to enter his office and watched as she shut the door with a gentle click behind her, although the deserted BAU ensured that no one would overhear or interrupt their conversation. In a few quick strides, she was sitting in the chair directly across from his desk, bouncing her legs up and down in order to alleviate her obvious nervousness._

"_I'm guessing this couldn't wait until morning?" He asked with raised eyebrows._

"_It is morning," Emily nonchalantly pointed at the clock that read 4:00 A.M. Hotch nodded, beaten._

"_Is everything alright?" He asked, although he was nearly positive that she hadn't meandered into his office in the wee hours of the morning for mere social talk. Emily sighed and ran her hand through her wet hair, but did not speak. Hotch surveyed the team's newest agent before continuing softly. _

"_You're anxious." Hotch commented, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. Very rarely did Prentiss outwardly express her inner emotions. 'What if she can't take the job anymore?' Hotch asked himself. If she quit, it would be hard on the team, which was still struggling from the recent calamity that befell its youngest member. What came next, however, surprised Hotch:_

"_I don't know how to do…say…this, so I'm just going to put it all out there, alright?" It felt like she was asking his permission, so Hotch nodded, signaling for her to keep speaking._

"_I'm worried about Reid. Look, I know he suffered through something traumatic during the Hankel case. I'm not arguing that fact or trying to invalidate it at all, but…" her eyes scanned the orderly office for a moment, fastidiously avoiding her boss' stoic eyes. Hotch watched her blink rapidly as it occurred to him that stone-faced Emily Prentiss was about to cry._

"_Whatever you're going to tell me, Emily, is confidential." Hotch reassured. Prentiss nodded to herself and regained a fragment of her normal composure._

"_I went to a diner tonight, after we got back." Hotch nodded, knowing that Prentiss went instead of sleeping. The last case had been challenging for everyone, and he wasn't surprised that the others did things to distract themselves from the nightmares they would soon face. After all, he was doing paperwork at four in the morning._

"_And Reid was there." Although Emily meeting Reid at a diner after a tough case was not implausible, the nervous, fidgeting Emily Prentiss in front of Hotch suggested that something had gone amiss._

"_Did something happen?" Hotch tried to keep his voice professional, but he could tell that curiosity outlined his words by the way the question came out sounding rushed._

"_He…" Emily toyed with her fingernails, which Hotch noticed were chewed to stubbed points._

"_Something wasn't right with him…" she trailed off, clearly revisiting the memory._

"_What was so upsetting that you felt the need to come here and tell me immediately?" In any other situation, this question would have sounded accusing, but then, Hotch had realized, he felt himself start to panic. He knew what agents on the edge were like, and something told him when Reid saw the cliff's descent, he may welcome its steep, sudden drop._

"_He asked me if I ever wanted to escape…" Her dark eyes met his, and Hotch tried to ignore the swirl of emotions in Emily's stare. "He asked me if I ever wanted to disappear."_

"_In what way?" He was already moving to action, collecting and stacking papers into a subconscious order._

"_It sounded like…" Emily trailed off once more._

"_Emily, you and I both know this is important." She sighed before speaking. Across the desk, Hotch felt exhaustion emanating outwards._

"_His pupils were dilated, Hotch. It was like he wasn't there." She paused, and Hotch waited, knowing there was more._

"_Was he under the influence?" Emily shrugged._

"_I didn't smell any alcohol on him, but he may have been drunk." Hotch didn't ask her to elaborate what other drugs she thought Reid may or may not be using._

"_You and I both know that what everyone decides to do in their off time is not my concern." Hotch argued, keeping his tone gentle._

"_It wasn't just that, Hotch." Prentiss argued, debating how to choose her words. "His eyes were dead. It was like…" A thick silence hung in the air before Hotch broke through its barrier._

"_Like what?" His own voice sounded scared, even to him._

"_I think he was going to hurt himself." Emily sat back in the chair, staring at the flat, white ceiling ignoring the tears traveling down her cheeks. Hotch reached for the tissues on his desk._

"_Do you think that's a real possibility?" Emily fidgeted, but accepted the tissue Hotch handed her. "Because, if it is, you and I are both aware of the measures that need to be taken."_

"_I don't know. I mean, this is Reid we're talking about..." She blew her nose loudly, completely unabashed by her crumpling composure._

"_It's just," she fidgeted in the rigid chair, "He's not acting like himself at all. I'm aware that I don't know him as well as everyone else, but I can profile, and you cannot sit here and tell me he's alright." Her voice, which had wavered just moments prior, was now determined. Hotch remembered when he first met Prentiss, she had been brutally open with him about her family's political roots and her obvious disapproval of the nature of political affairs. Her honesty had been one of the things that made him give her a chance then and, now, with Emily sitting across from him, Hotch acknowledged how much he both admired and respected her sincerity._

"_You're right," he asserted. "Reid is struggling right now." Prentiss nodded in agreement, bit her lip, and stared at her practical, but comfortable, black boots._

"_Do you know why I hired you, Emily?" Hotch asked, switching the topic of conversation. Confused eyes met his own._

"_Because my paperwork was messed up and it would be too annoying to fix it?" Emily asked sarcastically and with an underlying tone of puzzlement that told Hotch she had no idea where he was taking their discussion._

"_Not exactly," he chuckled._

"_Or was it because I wouldn't leave you alone?" Prentiss grinned, and Hotch couldn't help but return the smile._

"_Actually, those things didn't hurt." He teased. He watched as her muscles released some of their tense stature. "But, I remember you very frankly discussed your family and how you resented politics, even though someone in my position might have very well abused political ties in order to succeed in this field."_

"_With all due respect, what does this have to do with Reid?" Hotch gave Prentiss a contemplative look, catching her dark eyes with his own._

"_I saw something in you then. Your candor made me realize that I had to keep my priorities straight. This is about justice, and about the team, not some overhead agenda." Prentiss nodded, wondering if Hotch had lost his mind too._

"_What I'm trying to say," Hotch explained, knowing Emily was more than a little perplexed, "Is you've never been anything but honest with me, so when you say something's wrong with Reid, I know that it's the truth, however much I don't want to acknowledge that."_

"_Thank you," Emily's voice was filled with emotion again. "I appreciate that."_

"_I'm worried about Reid, too." Hotch admitted to her, remembering how he suddenly found the papers on his desk increasingly interesting._

"_The whole team is," Emily agreed, ignoring the sudden urge to reach out and give Hotch's hand a reassuring squeeze._

"_Between us," Hotch began, meeting her gaze for the acknowledgment of discretion, "I should have done something about this situation much sooner."_

"_Hotch," Emily's eyes widened in disbelief and concern. Since when did Hotch admit guilt and feelings so openly? "It's not your fault. These things happen. It could have been any one of us. You know that." Her words were gentle and her voice soft, and Hotch felt something in him ease at the sound._

"_Tell me, besides tonight, what else has you so worried?" Hotch looked at his colleague, addressing her with the deep eyes she knew. The ones that told her he would do something, anything, to help._

"_I'm sure I'm not the first person to say he's lost weight." Hotch did not respond, neither confirming nor denying that other members of the team, mainly Garcia, had mentioned Reid's rapidly shrinking body mass._

"_He looks awful," Prentiss began, avoiding Hotch's eyes again. It felt wrong to talk about a coworker like this, especially to Hotch, but she also knew she had to do something. This couldn't continue much longer. If it did, Emily figured, Reid would either quit or get himself killed._

"_How so?" Hotch understood, but he wanted to hear it from Prentiss. It had to be that way because, then, this whole scenario would be real. It would not be just a nagging thought or suspicion that circled his mind whenever he had a moment's rest._

"_He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. It's almost like he has the flu…you know, he shakes a lot, sweats, vomits in the bathroom when he thinks no one's in there..." Hotch raised his eyebrows. What the hell had Prentiss been doing in the men's room?_

"_Morgan told me." She explained, unashamed by the realization that Hotch thought she was peeping into the men's bathroom stalls. Hotch nodded, once more signaling for her to continue._

"_Not to mention, he's jumpy, anxious, and he's been really irritable." Hotch signed, running his hand tiredly over his face in a motion he associated with Gideon. In fact, the older agent had said these same things about Reid a few days prior._

"_These are all legitimate concerns." Hotch agreed, hating how his stomach was twisting into knots._

"_What do we do?" Emily asked the inevitable, and Hotch didn't know how to respond, so he went with the truth._

"_You should go home and try and get some sleep." Hotch was moving again, knowing he may have wasted precious minutes already. Somehow, the situation in front of him did not seem real._

"_Sir-"Hotch cut Prentiss off before she could retaliate._

"_You're exhausted, upset, and if Reid sees you with me, he may become even more agitated that you came to me after speaking with him tonight." Emily sighed, balling the tissue in her hand._

"_And you?" She questioned._

"_I'm going to go see if I can find him." Emily nodded, rising to her feet when Hotch came around the front of the desk._

"_What's your plan when you do?" Hotch met her eyes before answering._

"_I'm not sure." And, in the silence that followed, Hotch vowed he would figure everything out. He had to because, after all, Hotch told himself, he was the team leader and Reid was his responsibility. It was more than that, though. It always had been an unspoken vow that Reid, the youngest member of the team, was the agent they all tried to protect more than they tried to protect themselves. Hotch saw the boy's genius, but he also saw the insecurity, the pain, and the avoidance of things and people that had wronged him in his short, but tumultuous, life._

The loud bangs of a backfiring muffler from the street outside the building brought Hotch back to his present position in Reid's apartment. You didn't figure it out, Aaron, his brain mocked. Hotch felt sick when he realized that he failed to act until Gideon's print-out and Reid's confession in the parking lot_. I should have known he was addicted. I should have been a better listener. I shouldn't have waited for all the facts to fall into place_. Hotch's thoughts circled in loops in his mind_. You did know_, his inner voice debated. You were in denial. Even with all the violence he had seen over the years and the agents he knew who had lost their nerves and sanity, Reid addicted to drugs felt like a whole new realm of terror that Hotch simply could not grasp. The night Prentiss came to him had been a night he wished and wanted to forget for a long time, yet Hotch found it impossible to now, as memory came flooding back to him…

_**About a month and a half prior:**_

_The pavement was slick and wet with rain, as Hotch drove slowly around the deserted city. He didn't know where Reid would be, but something told him he had not stayed anywhere near the twenty-four hour diner, which was conveniently placed by the downtown bars. His agents were allowed to do whatever it was they liked during their time off, but Hotch could not picture his youngest agent downing glasses of amber liquid in some loud, sordid bar._

_So Hotch tried deserted parks, empty swing sets at playgrounds, and shadowed walking paths. He tried main streets with darkened storefront windows, even peering into filthy alleys that he had visited during previous cases. He repeatedly drove by every empty bus stop and train station and had almost called it a hopeless search before circling towards the last park that had wooden bridge overlooking the swollen river._

_And he had been completely beside himself to see Reid, thankfully on the street side, leaning over its railing, peering down at the rapids below._

_The white lines were the only markings on the road, and Hotch pulled his car to the side, crossing the street without looking. It didn't matter-it was way too early for any car to be on the road anyway._

_If Reid heard him pull over, exit the car, and approach with too quick footsteps that did not hide the anxiety Hotch felt, he didn't move an inch. In the falling rain, Hotch saw the agent's face was pointed downwards, wearing a vacant expression he did not recognize. He was shaking, although Hotch couldn't tell if he was cold or if it was from something else. It wasn't warm, and he fought the urge to shove his own hands in his pockets. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on Reid's left shoulder._

"_Reid? What are you doing here?" The boy's body gave a sudden lurch, but he did not respond or indicate that he recognized the composed voice. Hotch realized the shaking was not only from the cold, but also from Reid's heavy sobs._

"_Go away." Reid attempted to sound strong, but his voice wavered and cracked._

"_You and I both know I can't do that right now." Hotch argued, keeping his pitch composed. It, however, did not seem to calm Spencer._

"_Please, Hotch." Reid pleaded with his boss in a tone that nearly caused tears to fall from Hotch's own eyes. "I just want to be alone."_

"_I'm not leaving you at five in the morning on a bridge in the pouring rain, Reid." Hotch couldn't help it when the authority crept into his wording. Damnit, he was responsible for this mess. And, judging from the situation, it was one hell of a mess._

"_Fine. Stay then. I don't care." Reid mumbled, wiping excess water from his face. Hotch leaned his elbows against the rail, imitating the young man's stature._

"_What's going on, Reid?" His voice was soft, and it occurred to Hotch just then that he had never bothered to ask this query before, even after Georgia. It seemed irrelevant then because the pain was fresh and apparent. Now, months later, Hotch felt as though he should have asked this question daily._

"_Nothing!" An explosion of built up emotions startled the stillness in the morning air. "Why does everyone keep asking me that!" Reid's face had grown red with fury, and Hotch watched as his self-control crumbled._

"_Alright," Hotch debated. "I will leave you alone." Hotch was not surprised when Reid's very confused, dilated eyes met his own._

"_You will?" Hotch nodded._

"_Sure, if you tell me what you're doing on this bridge at this hour." Then, the awareness set in, and Hotch saw Reid's normal state return as he picked at his fingers. The rain began to ease its intensity, but Reid's shaking grew worse. It wasn't warm, and Hotch was surprised that he wasn't colder given the fact the he was soaked straight through his suit._

"_It's not what it looks like." Reid mumbled, staring outwards at the gray sky that outlined the swirling water below._

"_It doesn't look very good, Reid." The younger agent sighed, his shoulder sagging forward. Inside, Hotch was glad that he had not found Reid on the other side of the bridge. His considerable negotiating skills aside, he knew that would have been a situation that would not end well._

"_I just need to think, ok?" Reid sounded scared, lost, and young, as he rested his forehead on his trembling hands._

"_On a bridge in the rain at five in the morning?" Hotch pushed._

"_I'm not going to jump off, if that's what you're implying." Reid belligerently faced his superior, eyes burning with anger once more._

"_But you were thinking about it?" Hotch dared to ask the question he had been thinking since he had placed his car in park moments earlier. And, as quickly as it had appeared, Hotch saw Reid's anger disappear. The eyes that turned away were now filled with pain-more sadness that Hotch had ever seen emanating outwards from the hazel orbs before._

"_I'm drunk right now." Reid said, as if it was an acceptable response for Hotch's query. _

"_You're off duty. That's fine." Hotch conceded. "But that still doesn't answer my question, Reid." Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes with balled fists before speaking very quietly._

"_Don't tell me you haven't ever imagined it before…" It took Hotch a second to realize Reid admitted to thinking about suicide. In the rain that fell around them, Hotch surveyed the evergreen tree line, the pointed rocks below, and the white-foamed water that hid depths up to 20 feet. If Reid had been planning to test his curiosity tonight, Hotch knew the elements alone would have helped him succeed._

"_My actions aren't in question right now." Hotch shifted the conversation away from him, although he knew very well what the edges of darkness felt like. He remembered its comforting presence and how reassuring the unknown felt with its soft edges of oblivion. After his father had died, Aaron Hotchner had entered a dark void, only to be released after time had lapsed, where he found himself standing on a thin ledge, peering down at the sudden rift that had formed between the present and the time he had been lost._

"_Tell me what's going on, Reid. I want to help you."_

"_You sound like Prentiss." Reid grumbled, kicking his foot against the base of the bridge in a childish way._

"_She's worried about you too." Reid did not look up from ground. "We all are." Hotch continued._

"_I said," Reid spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm fucking fine."_

"_Really?" Hotch questioned, his voice rising with intensity. "In all my time knowing you, I've never heard you swear like that."_

"_Well, there's a first time for everything." Reid answered sarcastically._

"_Reid, you've lost weight. You're irritable, anxious, and it looks like you haven't slept in weeks." Hotch pointed out these things with a gentle tone, ignoring how Reid evaded his prying eyes._

"_I don't have to be happy all the time," Reid argued. Soaking from the rain and struggling to answer Reid's responses, Hotch could sense he was losing some type of battle, although he could not place what was at stake._

"_No one says you have to, either, but I don't think you've been happy for a long time…"_

"_Since Tobias?" Reid interjected, breathing the name into the early morning air._

"_Is that how it feels?" Hotch queried, attempting to keep his voice neutral._

"_Forget it." Reid mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning towards the street. "Can you just leave me alone?"_

"_Sorry, Reid." Hotch gave him a sad smile. "I don't think I can. I don't know how safe you are right now. Actually, I think you may try something dangerous if I do leave you alone."_

"_I won't go for a morning swim," Reid tried to kid, but, even through the rain, Hotch could see the tears welling in his eyes._

"_Reid, please. Talk to me." In any other situation, Hotch's actions would be considered begging, but they hit a nerve with the younger agent, whose features crumbled into a knot of pain._

"_I'm not crazy," Reid whispered in a voice that sounded like he was begging Hotch, and maybe himself, to believe his words. Swallowing the emotion that was blocking his throat, Hotch spoke in a stern, but soft, voice._

"_I know you're not, Reid, but I'm worried about you right now. You and I both know that this," Hotch gestured outwards at the bridge, rapids below, and falling rain, "Isn't normal, even for you." Reid teetered a bit on his feet. 'He's not just drunk,' Hotch recalled thinking later on. 'He's under the influence of something else too.'_

"_I'm having a hard time." Reid stated. "It's no big deal." Hotch wiped some water out of his eyes._

"_I think it is a big deal, Reid." Spencer shrugged again, staring at the chipped white paint on the bridge's railing. "It's understandable, though."_

"_I'll be ok, alright?" Reid said, trying to keep his voice steady. It sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than he was Hotch._

"_How-" Reid interrupted Hotch before he could continue._

"_Can you just drive me home?" Hotch heard the shame outlining Reid's words. The kid was drunk, talking to his boss in the rain, and admitted to having a hard time. It was enough to make anyone jump of a bridge, Hotch surmised._

"_I can do that, but," Reid's head shot up at Hotch's proposition, "You and I are going to finish this conversation at a later date, preferably later today or early tomorrow." Reid nodded, staring at his saturated converse sneakers._

"_Come on," Hotch clasped a fatherly-like hand on Reid's bony shoulder. "Let's get in the car before we both catch pneumonia." And Reid had followed, allowing Hotch to blast the heat on the way home. He even blinked his living room lights to signal he was in his apartment after a silent car ride across town. Later, while standing in a blazingly hot shower in the early morning hours, Hotch had decided he was going to make Reid have another psych eval first thing when the team arrived from their day off. Obviously, the kid had lied in his last one, and Hotch vowed that he would personally sit-in on this next one. Before that, however, he would tell Reid he was not allowed to be on the team unless he never found him on a bridge again, regardless of the side._

Now, standing among Reid's belongings, Hotch felt his eyes burn. His intentions for good had been squashed the very next day, when Reid had arrived late, and evidently hung over. Hotch tried to stop the younger agent before he boarded the plane, but Reid had rushed out of the conference room. There wasn't enough time before takeoff, and Hotch had seceded to Morgan's insisting that Reid stay on the case. I knew better, Hotch thought. It wasn't right to keep Reid on active duty. What if the case went wrong and something happened to him? It could have been much worse. Had his judgment as leader been clouded by something? Since when did he let emotionally distraught agents work? Elle, his inner voice reminded. With a sinking feeling, Hotch knew that this situation was worse, so much worse, than the last team member's self-implosion had been.

Only Hotch knew about where Reid had been the night before and, judging from Reid's behavior, he had been more intoxicated than Hotch thought. It was very apparent that the young agent had not recalled anything, although Hotch found this hard to believe. Reid was the master of shoving unwanted memories into his subconscious, and Hotch figured the kid would remember sooner or later.

Now, with the burden of memory weighing down on him, Hotch wanted to forget, although he knew that pushing away pain and its affects was messy and bore harsh consequences that always returned with increasingly painful, unmatched intensity. Instead, Hotch stood in Reid's apartment, wanting to set things right and restore the order back to the team and Reid's world. And when things still felt and remained tilted and dark, Hotch understood he had failed.


	22. Chapter 22

"_Your injuries aren't mortal ones. The only thing that's killing you is what you saw-what you couldn't stop. But you're not the one I blame. It wasn't your mistake." _

_-Dashboard Confessional "Slow Decay"_

_

* * *

_

Placing a bundle of Reid's mail on the table, Hotch surveyed the kitchen with interest. _This place is really clean, _he thought. _I know we're gone a lot, but it's too clean. _He couldn't fathom why the spotlessness irritated him, but it seemed like there should have been some clue or sign that pointed to drug use in Reid's apartment. Hotch had been inside many homes before, usually uninvited, and there were always clues to the occupant's behavior. A magazine on an end table explained a hobby or interest. Photographs on the walls displayed those closest to the homeowner's heart. Even the most sterile environments were telling - a neatly arranged vanity indicated someone who wanted to make the best impression. However, Reid's apartment looked as though someone hadn't lived in it for months. _Maybe he didn't use here, _Hotch speculated, knowing that probably wasn't the case. Uneasiness fell over Agent Hotchner, gnawing at the lining of his stomach. Clearly, he had been wrong to miss or purposefully ignore such a blatantly obvious issue before, and he would be damned if he let another opportunity to make sense of this situation pass by again.

"What are you hiding, Reid?"He mumbled to himself, heading towards the rows of wooden cabinets above the gleaming kitchen counters.

He didn't know what he expected to find, but Hotch began yanking kitchen cabinets open, looking behind stacks of plates and a large assortment of coffee mugs. The fridge had coffee creamer, bottled water, a half-empty bag of coffee beans, and not much else. Its bareness did not shock Hotch, but it filled him with a sympathetic sadness, knowing that his kitchen would be empty if he lived alone. The other rooms were the same: the books neat, movies in order, and desk with its organized files and powered-down computer. The shower had a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, a bar of soap, a lone towel hanging off the hook behind the door, and a solitary, empty beer can in the garbage. Hotch hurriedly grabbed for the medicine cabinet door, only to be disappointed when its shelves exhibited merely innocent band-aids and multivitamins. _Way to cover your tracks, Reid, _he thought, disappointed but unsurprised.

It was with hesitant steps that he made his way into Reid's room. It seemed intrusive to enter his personal quarters, but curiosity led the way for him, and, before Hotch realized it, he was standing at Reid's bedside. There were a few photos on the wall and when Hotch looked closer, he saw Reid and his mother, one of Reid and JJ, and a famous one of a tongue extended Albert Einstein. It was the bedside table that made Hotch look twice, although something told him he shouldn't have been surprised: his team grinned upwards at him. Hotch took the framed picture into his hands for a closer look and realized it was a copy by its faded coloring. _He has the real one with him, _he understood.

A noise from the hallway startled him, but he did not move into a defensive position or reach for the gun strapped to his waist. The footsteps were familiar - a lightness to one side because the other one came down heavier. They were slow and ponderous, but Hotch knew that they could spring to action in a moment's notice.

"Aaron," Gideon's gruff voice came out with more emotion than he would have liked, "I didn't think you'd be here." It was the truth, both men realized, and Hotch turned towards the other man with the picture still in hand. Hotch didn't bother to ask the other agent if he had a key or how he got in if otherwise. Hotch knew that Jason Gideon would find a way to enter Reid's apartment-key or not.

"Look at this," He walked to Gideon's side, giving him the photograph. The sharp eyes studied it as a small smile tugged his lips upward.

"This is a copy." He stated what Hotch already knew. Gideon remembered the photo that was taken on a rare day between cases. To celebrate the lack of chaos, the team had gone out to lunch. He hadn't remembered where they went or what happened, but he recalled the moment - the warmth of the sun, the laughter, and the closeness he could sense, but could not see, curling around them.

"It's a good picture," he commented, handing the frame back to Hotch, who headed towards the nightstand to place it down once more. The two men met each other's gaze from across the room.

"I'm here because Reid asked me to take care of his apartment," Hotch began. "But that doesn't explain why you are." Gideon looked at his feet and shoved his hands in his pocket.

"I think you can answer that, Aaron." Hotch nodded. He knew that too.

"What's that?" Gideon spotted a worn, leather bound notebook on the bed, half shoved underneath a pillow. With gentle fingertips, he reached for it and understood immediately that it was a journal.

"We shouldn't read that, Jason." Hotch warned. Being in Reid's room was one thing, but reading his personal journal was another completely. Gideon turned the black book over in his hands, looking for some clue that would help him understand that situation around him. His mind flashed back to a few days prior:

"_You wanted to talk to me?" Gideon asked the other agent, sitting down in a stiff chair that matched the orderly décor in Hotch's office._

"_I'm making an announcement about Reid to the team today, but I thought you would like to know what's going on before I do so." Gideon motioned for Hotch to continue, but was surprised when the dark eyes met his. For the first time in what he assumed to be years, he saw the emotions emanating outwards. It was no surprise to him that Hotchner was stressed to the max, but he was shocked to see the blatant disregard for the customary protective covering._

"_I talked to Reid this morning, after we got back," Hotch paused to inhale deeply. Gideon's stomach turned. When had he ever heard Hotch unable to speak?_

"_And?" Gideon was at the edge of his seat, although it felt like he was going to fall off a much larger cliff._

"_You were right. He has a drug problem, specifically with narcotics. Morgan is__driving him to rehab this afternoon. I'm going to tell him about it after I explain Reid's absence to everyone." Gideon had a feeling that Hotch had not spoken to Morgan before telling Reid he could drive him._

_Outside the office, the sounds of the unit filed in through the open air vents: the tapping computer keys, the whispered swearing of a young agent who could not get the fickle copier to function properly, the phone's ringing, and the muted conversing of others. Inside Hotch's office, Gideon inhaled deeply in order to calm the emotions threatening to erupt, spilling over months of regret and shame._

"_Thanks for telling me, Aaron." Gideon felt like the room did not have enough air as he headed towards the door._

"_Jason, don't you want to discuss this?" Gideon stopped at the door, reaching his hand out to rest on the cool knob before answering. Behind him, Agent Hotchner saw his tense, hunched shoulders and shaking hands. He knew he was upset, but he also knew that the man would not turn around and sit back down. There would be no conversation about how guilty Agent Gideon felt or how Agent Hotchner felt the same. Hotch wanted to tell his colleague that it was okay to be upset and to show this to others, but, like Hotchner, when Gideon grieved, it was a private affair._

"_I hate being right." Gideon admitted, turning the knob as the floor blended into a watery mixture before his eyes._

"Jason, are you alright?" Hotch was peering at the older agent, who noted he looked somewhat concerned.

"Yeah, you're right. This is Reid's personal property." He placed the book back under the pillows. _I'll come back for you later, _he told the journal silently.

"Do you ever think," Hotch asked the other agent as they headed into the hallway and into the sunny living room, "That we missed something very obvious?" His eyes scanned the room in front of him, expecting to see Reid lounging on the sofa, enjoying a movie or (more likely) reading.

"I think he hid it from us the same way he cleaned this apartment before he left." Gideon supposed.

"I knew something was wrong…" Hotch let his mind wander back to that night on the bridge.

"We all did, Aaron. It would take a damn fool not to see the kid was going through something." Hotch shuffled his feet, staring at the wood very intently.

"A few weeks ago, Prentiss came into my office." Gideon failed to see why this action was so unusual, but he remained quiet. From Hotch's shamed demeanor, he understood that whatever was coming into the open was not easy for Hotch to reveal.

"At four in the morning after we returned from a case. She ran into Reid at some diner and said she was worried about him."

"That's understandable. You and I both know that Emily is as stubborn as they come, regardless of the time of day." Hotch gave a small smile before meeting Gideon's stare.

"I went to look for him after she left and… I found Reid on a bridge, Jason." Gideon tried to stop his eyes from widening in shock, but it felt like all the air had escaped his lungs.

"He wasn't planning on jumping, at least I don't think he was, but he was standing in the pouring rain just watching the water." Gideon was trying to comprehend what he was hearing, but it felt as though someone had transported him to some far-off universe.

"What happened?" He managed to ask the unit chief. Hotch let his eyes fall on various points in the room before speaking.

"I talked to him and explained that we were worried about him. He said he was drunk, but-"

"You thought he wasn't just drunk?" Gideon interrupted. Hotch nodded, eyes on the floor once more.

"I was going to make him have another psych eval the next day, but I was going to sit in on it and make sure he didn't lie."

"Except he was late to work the next day, and we didn't have enough time before the next case." Gideon interjected once more, placing the pieces together. He saw Reid running into the conference room, face flushed, clothes wrinkled, and messenger bag in tow. Hotch confirmed his assumptions were correct with a slight nod of the head.

"And Morgan convinced me to let him work." Hotch said. Gideon didn't respond, sighing deeply. Neither many spoke as time passed, filling the room with their regrets.

"You did what you thought was right," Gideon finally spoke. "It's just the universe had other plans."

"I should have reported him." Hotch murmured, unable to get the image of Reid leaning against the bridge's railing out of his mind.

"What's important now is that Reid's getting help." Gideon emphasized. He couldn't tell Aaron how angry he was at Reid, the unit chief, or himself. Spencer was an adult and his drug problem, however painful for others, was his problem. _Not theirs_. It hurt Gideon to understand that, on some levels, he couldn't fix this.

"Sometimes I think that I'm not good for this job." Hotch confessed, meeting the older agent's gaze. Gideon heard the faltering emotion behind Hotch's words. The wall of stoicism only occasionally broke and, when it did, it always caught him off guard. _We're all human, _he reminded himself.

"All great leaders doubt themselves." Gideon suggested, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I think I care too much sometimes." If it weren't for the heaviness in the room and on Agent Gideon's chest, he would have smiled. If anyone cared, it was Hotchner, but his ability to show it was often skewed by the job's requirements.

"I think we all do." Gideon surveyed the orderly room in front of him. "But it makes you good at what you do. That night on the bridge, you got Reid to go home. It was out of your control that he came in late the next morning, but it was your trust in Morgan and the team that helped Reid admit to having a problem."

"Why does it still feel like I failed him?" Hotch asked with a wavering tone, sounding less and less like his usual, sure self.

"Because you're human, and, as a human, as Reid's supervisor and friend, you care." Gideon's words lingered in the air and, for a moment, Hotch shut his eyes, allowing the emotions to surge and swell underneath his closed lids.

"This place is unbelievably neat…" Gideon changed the subject, unsure of why he had not noticed Reid's OCD-like attention to order before. "I mean, I get it. He cleaned it before he left, but this seems like there should be something here."

"I searched for drugs everywhere," Hotch admitted dejectedly, looking at the rows of polished wood.

"I would have too." Gideon agreed. Gideon raised his eyebrows, and Hotch understood his silent inquiry.

"There's nothing. Whatever he had in here," Hotch surveyed the organized living room, "is long gone."

"Maybe that's for the best, Aaron." Gideon contemplated.

"How do you figure? This isn't really a situation that has 'a best' right now." Gideon sighed at the argument, running his hand over his tired eyes before he spoke.

"How would you have felt if you came in here and Reid's apartment was like any other junkie's place?" The thought had not entered Hotch's mind, although a small part of him had understood that as a very real possibility. When he had first turned the key in the lock, Hotch had braced himself for the disarray: the empty beer cans and liquor bottles, dirty dishes, dust, and, worse, a syringe with remnants of the very narcotic Reid stole from Tobias. Now, among the faint smells of wood polish and bleach, he did not know what he would have done if Reid's apartment was a haven for disorganization and drug paraphernalia.

"I guess it would make it alright somehow, though." Hotch argued. Gideon nodded, comprehension lining his face.

"I know what you mean. I half-expected to open the door and see dirty dishes, clothes, empty beer cans..." Gideon trailed off, viewing the room as if his mind were placing the said items where they had been days earlier.

"It would have helped me understand this." Hotch studied the space, but his mind still searched for a reason. _How did I not do something sooner? _Hotch chided himself. It took Gideon a moment to gather his own thoughts before speaking.

"Maybe Reid did us a favor, or what he thought was a favor," Gideon surmised. "Maybe he was ashamed of how bad everything got and he didn't want us to know. Maybe cleaning up his mess was the only way he understood how to take responsibility. Keep a strand of his dignity, so to speak."

"That doesn't make me feel better about this, but it sounds like something he'd do." Hotch agreed. Silence overcame both men as they stood in the middle of the living room. Rays of light were becoming less vibrant as the day outside the windows began to fade away. In the solitude of his mind, Agent Hotchner tried to comprehend the area in front of him and the months behind him. Things like this, Hotch debated, were not supposed to happen to the people he cared about. His team was supposed to ask for help if they needed it. It wasn't like they hadn't tried, but it seemed the more they pried, the further and further away Reid had retreated. Hotch understood a thing or two about personal demons, but he still could not understand why Reid had not screamed for help when he was very clearly drowning under the weight of everything. With a heavy heart, Hotch spoke to the older agent.

"I don't know how to make this right, Jason."

"I don't think that's our place." He told the man whose eyes had filled with something he did not recognize. "You said it yourself to the team - this has to be Reid's journey." Hotch took a deep breath and blinked a few times. The scene in front of him did not disappear, although he desperately wanted it to.

"Do you feel responsible too?" He questioned, searching for some semblance of shared pain.

"More than I'd like to admit." Gideon revealed. The silence sat with them for a few moments.

"What do we do now?" Hotch asked, his voice barely above a whisper. If Gideon didn't suspect how close Hotch was to losing the last remaining fragments of his composure, he would have answered with a ubiquitous "I don't know." It occurred to Gideon that he did not have the faintest inkling about how everything began, how or why it spiraled, and why the team was now left to sort through the wreckage of an aftermath they did not understand entirely.

"I think we wait." Gideon said finally. Hotch sighed, exhaling to calm his nerves. It was rare that emotion overran his senses, and he had been surprised by the sadness that bubbled upwards. He hadn't shoved the drugs into Reid's body like Hankel had, but it sure as hell felt like he was responsible.

"Come on," Gideon clasped a reassuring hand on Hotch's shoulder, "I'll buy you a coffee." Hotch gave him a slight look before speaking.

"I think I'd rather just go -"

Gideon interrupted before Hotch could protest further: "I'm offering to buy you coffee and possibly food and you're turning me down?" He argued jokingly.

"Alright, but only because you never buy." Hotch teased. A few days prior, Gideon had placed a steaming cup of coffee on his desk before an early-morning briefing. This had come a few days after Gideon brought in munchkins for the team and a brightly-colored, feather-decorated pen for Garcia, who had been flabbergasted by and grateful for the surprise.

"Sounds good to me." Gideon agreed. The two men turned the backs to the shelves of organized books and movies that were becoming outlines of long shadows in the weakening light that was filtering in from the windows. In the empty hallway, they ignored the pair of narrow shoes by the front door, and did not inhale the harsh scent of cleaning products that permeated the air. Hotch let Gideon exit first, feeling the coolness of the quickly approaching winter air seep in from outside. Agent Aaron Hotchner gave the empty apartment one last sweep before shutting the door, locking it securely behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hi everyone. Again, I'm sorry for the amount of time between updates. I'm going to try my hardest to be better about updating more frequently. I've seemed to acquire some kind of summer cold that makes it feel like there's an elephant on my chest, so, hopefully, when that retreats, I'll feel well enough to update more.  
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**This isn't edited by anyone, so all the mistakes and typos are mine. As always, thanks for the wonderful adds, alerts, and reviews. :) Have a great long weekend!**

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"_I don't know what I've done or if I like what I've begun, but something told me to run and., honey, you know me-it's all or none. There were sounds in my head, little voices whispering, that I should go and this should end, oh, and I find myself listening."-Missy Higgins "Where I Stood."_

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"So Spencer," Dr. Batalini, who everyone called Dr. B, leaned back in his chair, viewing the young man sitting across from him. He was thin, lanky, and had soft, brown hair that was tossed with a few curls that gave him almost a boyish quality. However, it was his eyes that revealed an age much older than Dr. B, or anyone else, would guess.

"Tell me about your impressions about rehab so far." Reid shrugged, looked at the blue carpet on the floor, and mumbled a response. Dr. B, even with his thick spectacles, sensed that this young man was not comfortable meeting with a psychiatrist just yet. They met daily, as required per the rehab's rules, and, so far, the only things Dr. B had been able to extract from the young agent was tidbits about his mother's mental illness, details about his intelligence and its effects on his social life, his team and their support, and a very quick mentioning of a case in Georgia that had gone horribly wrong.

"I'm sorry," Dr. B gave Reid a warm smile. "I didn't catch that." Reid glared in his direction. He knew what the Doctor wanted and was not so willing to let his guard down.

"I guess it went alright. Well, not the detox part." Reid revealed. Dr. B nodded, expecting a casual answer.

"Have you talked to anyone else, other than at your group therapy and NA meetings?" Reid nodded, and Dr. B listened while he spoke about his roommate, Jim, and his dining companions. Reid was relieved that Dr. B had ignored his blatant circumventing of what really needed to be discussed.

"Why does Melinda make you uncomfortable?" He asked Spencer. Dr. B would never admit this openly, but Melinda even gave him the chills. Other staff members had called her cold and lofty, but Dr. B saw something else in her. Something was far removed from reality.

"It's her eyes," Reid confessed. "When you enter the FBI, they tell you in training that you need to take breaks and vacations. You know, to let your emotions and brain rest. They want you to have self care" Dr. B nodded, signaling for Spencer to continue speaking. "It's just…" Reid bit his bottom lip.

"You know whatever you tell me is confidential, Spencer." Dr. B gently reminded. Reid nodded, taking a small inhalation before continuing.

"She's not there. It's like she died a long time ago."

"I can see why that would make you uncomfortable around her." Reid met the doctor's eyes before speaking.

"It's not just that. I mean, yes, I fear becoming like her, but…" Reid trailed off once more, letting his eyes fall onto the navy blue carpet.

"What is it, Spencer?" Dr. B's voice was soft and inviting.

"I know how it feels to just go through the motions." _Now we're getting somewhere, _Dr. B thought, observing how Reid fidgeted in the chair across from him, uncrossing and crossing his legs and arms. When those motions failed to ease his anxiety, he took to studying the room with rapidly darting pupils that fell on Dr. B's various framed degrees, posters displaying scenes of nature, and one framed painting that, as it appeared to Spencer, was created many years before, and, from its bold strokes of color, by a small child.

"Can you tell me more about your last statement?" Dr. B asked, keeping his voice even. It seemed to calm Spence, who, for the moment, stopped fidgeting.

"I dunno..." He ran his hands through his hair, catching knots. "It's hard to explain, but I guess it felt similar to being submerged underwater." At this metaphor, the doctor raised his eyebrows, signaling for Reid to continue. _Just talk, _Reid told himself. _You know it will help. _Still, Reid felt reluctant to let everything out into the open. Somehow, it felt deeply invasive.

"I went to work, did my job, but it was _different," _he emphasized. Why was this so hard to explain when it, very clearly, was so apparent?

"Are you having trouble verbalizing this?" Dr. B asked, watching Reid's Adam's apple bob up and down. The young man nodded.

"Take me through the particular sensations then," the doctor suggested. "How did things sounds, appear, etc.?" Reid bit his lip in thought before speaking.

"It was like everything had this thick film over it, you know, almost like things weren't quite transparent. I could see out, but I'm not sure everyone could see inside." Startled by the depth of his statement, Reid's eyes widened.

"Do you think others had an inkling of what you were going through?" Then, as if he was in the room, Reid saw Hotch's face and heard his clam, controlled voice: _"Reid, if there's anything you want to talk to me about, you know where I am." _Spencer shook his head to dislodge himself from the past.

"Yeah, I think they knew." He did not have to say "team" because Dr. B understood.

"What else?"

"It felt like everything was in slow motion..." Reid trailed off, letting his eyes fall on the doctor's shoes. "Well, except for...certain times." What he wanted to say, what he desperately wanted to explain, was the time between highs had dragged on for years, but the time when he was in a drug-induced oblivion hadn't lasted long enough. Those times were beautiful and fleeting, leaving him wanting more and more.

"So, if I understand you correctly." Dr B contemplated, "Is you felt like the time you weren't high was endless, but the time you were was too short, so to speak?" Relief etched along the lines in Reid's face.

"Exactly."

"It felt like you were living each day but were not cognizant of your thoughts or emotions?" Reid nodded vehemently at the question, but found that he could not speak. A mass had moved into his airway, preventing words from exiting.

"I guess you can call it 'going through the motions'..." Reid said after regaining composure.

"What would you call it ?" Dr. B asked, shifting in his chair. Reid surveyed his frayed cuticles.

"I guess it was like I wanted to escape from the motions. I wanted everything to escape..." The doctor nodded slightly, knowing he'd have to ask his next question, although he wasn't entirely sure he'd receive a solid answer just yet. It was definitely too early in the relationship to form a firm sense of trust and, judging from the nervous agent in front of him, Dr. B was quite certain that the reason Spencer Reid became an addict would not reveal itself until much later in the course of his therapy.

"How did your addiction start, Spencer?" Dr. B leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his khaki pants. The part of him that had learned to sense a disclosure surged to life. Although it caused patients very apparent mental and physical distress, Dr. B could not help how much he anticipated the moments leading up to a revelation. It was comparable, he figured, to an adrenalin junkie seeking out the highest building or deepest ocean. But, what Dr. B loved the most, was what came after the confession-the talking, the admittance of personal weaknesses, and the courage his patients had to reevaluate their lives, thought processes, and to find the strengths they had almost always possessed, but were not aware existed.

"I've been here a little over a week, and you already want to know that?" Reid shot back. His brain wanted to confess and, currently, his thoughts were playing ping pong against his skull. _Just tell him, you moron. _Reid's brain chided. _He's doing his job, and you have to do yours. Hotch sent you here for a reason._

"You and I know that you're here because of an addiction," Dr. B chose his words carefully, expecting the retort. "I know you're smart, perhaps too smart to not realize my motives, but I'd like to think I know a thing or two about how to help you that maybe, just maybe, you aren't aware of yet." Dr. B's words were not meant to sting or hurt, but, instead, were meant to press the issue at hand. Having worked with a number of CIA, FBI, and other government officials in the past twenty years or so had allowed him to create a compass for dealing with individuals of high intelligence. They could be problematic due to their knowledge and mindsets, but, often, they were no different from other addicts, and, more often than not, they were even worse off because they knew the outcomes, the statistics, and their denial was often deeply rooted in their psyche.

"I understand you may not trust me just yet, and that's perfectly normal." Dr B explained. "But do know, Spencer, that you are here, in this rehab facility, because you have an addiction. In order for me to help you and for you to return to the world and your job, we need to discuss, at length, how this addiction began, why it continued, and how to manage its end."

Reid heard the truth behind the doctor's words, and although he wanted to just let everything spill out into the small office with its windows overlooking the gardens, he could not fathom why the words did not come. The thin, athletic man wearing a blue pastel shirt waited patiently, twirling his wedding ring with one finger in a nonchalant way, as if he had been expecting this wall and was not at all bothered by its size or layers.

"This is new to me." Reid gestured towards the offices, Dr. B's neat, pine desk, computer, and stacked bookshelves. "I mean, we have psych evals at the BAU, but this is different."

"My guess is," Dr. B met Reid's eyes before continuing. "Is that you know how to behave and what to tell people?" Reid nodded as his words to Morgan came back to him: _I have an IQ of 187. I know what to tell a shrink._

"And this is so fundamentally terrifying because you've been caught, exposed, and now you know you have to be honest?" This was not a question of Reid's behavior as much as it was a statement.

"Sometimes, I think my job gets in the way. I'm used to reading people, and hiding my own feelings to help others. Sometimes, at the end of the day and especially after a hard case, I want to scream, cry, whatever." Reid flicked his hand outward in a helpless gesture. "But I can't because I have to keep up this charade." Reid confided, feeling his cheeks turn red.

"And why do you feel the need to have this facade? I'm sure your coworkers would all understand if you slipped up once and a while. You are human, Spencer." Reid played with this idea, wondering what Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, or, worse, Gideon would do if he got onto the plane and broke down into the tears like he desperately wanted to after some cases.

"Would you treat them any differently if they cried or needed to talk after a particularly hard case?" Dr. B queried.

"Not at all." Reid said confidently. If anything, he'd be more than willing to help any one of his teammates. When he saw the Doctor's resolute stare, Reid's stomach turned.

"So why do you feel as though they'd act that way with you or treat you with less respect if you did the same?" Dr. B asked, although he knew the young agent had already realized his stance on the matter.

"I guess I feel like that would make me appear inadequate. I'm the youngest. They call me 'kid'." He explained with a small smile. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind it, but I'm constantly feeling like I have to prove myself. Yeah, I'm smart," Reid glanced at the Doctor, who had his full attention on the young man. "But sometimes it feels like I'm not physically capable, or mentally capable. Sometimes, I can't help being awkward."

"Well, you and I know that's because of your intelligence to a degree." Dr. B addressed Spencer, who shifted his weight, but agreed with a firm head nod all the same.

"I do have one question for you, Dr. Reid." Reid looked up, surprised at Dr. B's direct acknowledgment of Reid's degrees. Only Hotch had made that a formality, wanting others to respect him more. At this remembrance of his superior, Reid felt he understood where the Doctor was heading.

"I want to ask you this: If your team trusts you enough to work next to you, especially in high-risk situations, and if they look to you to figure out the things they cannot and things you're an expert at, why would they see you as incapable?" Dr. B let his words resound with the young agent, and he saw the change that overcame Spencer. His eyes widened, filled with tears, and he promptly ignored them as they dribbled down his cheeks.

"They don't." Reid cleared his throat so he could continue speaking. "But that's how I feel. I guess I've always felt and feel inadequate." _Bingo, _Dr. B thought.

"Is that why the drugs helped?" Dr. B knew it was a long shot, but he figured he had a chance. The kid was letting his guard down gradually with each question. "Did they make you feel confident and somewhat secure?"

"Yeah…" Reid trailed off, but the Doctor held his eyes because he knew there was more.

"What else did they do for you, Spencer?"

"They helped me forget." At this admittance, Reid felt more saline rush down his face, but he did not bother to wipe the tears away. Unlike his previous bouts with the waterworks, Reid did not feel ashamed. He recognized the hot feeling flowing through his limbs as relief, and he wondered what was happening to him. Across the room, he gazed at the Doctor with a force that surprised even Reid. _I'm not falling to pieces because __he's asking me about difficult things, _Reid realized.

"But you didn't really forget did you? Whatever it was that you were running from, maybe a case and its affects or maybe your own feelings and thoughts, was always there when the narcotics didn't work anymore." Dr. B estimated. Reid sat with this thought a moment before speaking quietly.

"The funny thing is," Reid began. "I knew that the drugs weren't helpful. I knew they were just a cover." At this admittance, the Doctor gave Reid a small smile.

"That's what's so bad about addiction, Dr. Reid. Even a person with far less intelligence than your own both recognizes and denies, on some level, that the drugs and their effects do not help, yet he or she is powerless to stop using. There's a clear disconnect between head and heart." There was an immediate, yet comfortable, silence. For a few moments, Reid listened to the ticking of the wall clock and the distant sounds of the world outside.

"I think I'd like to reconnect." He explained to Dr. B, who did not hide the smile that transformed his cheeks into dimpled grooves and his eyes to twinkling blue orbs.

"Well, I think we can do something about that, but your time's up for now." Reid thanked him, promised to do his daily journaling, and left the room, feeling as though the world had somehow rotated into a much lighter form than it had been fifty minutes prior.

Back in his room, Reid touched the edges of the picture frame he had brought from home. It was his favorite picture and he had even made a copy before he left, placing it on the nightstand in his apartment's bedroom. He saw JJ's bright smile that filled the whole memory with warmth. Prentiss, for once, had dropped her guard and was laughing at something Morgan had said. Morgan was laughing too, his head slightly turned in her direction. Garcia was grinning with an arm around both Morgan and Gideon, who, besides from looking somewhat surprised, actually seemed to be at ease. Reid let his eyes fall on Hotch, who was standing at the edge of the picture, arm protectively around Reid, edging him closer to Prentiss and JJ at the center of the group. Hotch's eyes were light too, and Reid had looked at his own. For the first time since receiving the photo about a year prior, Reid recognized the look in his expression: it was at _home_. He belonged somewhere, and that picture proved it. Now, he just had to feel it.

"Don't worry guys," he whispered to the photograph. "I'll be okay." And, for the first time, Reid realized that was how he felt.


	24. Chapter 24

**If I spelled Clooney wrong, my b. I think a website said that was the acceptable spelling...Also, I know I'm jumping around with flashbacks and present-day in these chapters and I'm trying my best to make sure things aren't so confusing. If they are, please let me know.  
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**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, adds, alerts, etc. :) This is probably my favorite chapter, so enjoy!**

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"_Misplaced trust and old friends never counting regrets; by the grace of God, I do not rest at all. New England as the leaves change, the last excuse I'll claim...Most nights I hardly sleep. Don't take what you don't need...A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather...it's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert." -Ron Pope "A Drop in the Ocean"_

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Derek Morgan thought that the rhythm of the world could be heard at the beach, as the waves shot forward and retreated once more. Above, the seagulls squawked and screeched for abandoned particles of food, moldy bread scattered from boxed lunches, pieces of washed-up crab shells, and bits of grain that stuck together from sticky, dripping lollipops. At the water's edge, it was a never-ending battle between sand and shore. In the distance, if Morgan was lucky, he could hear the ships: the loud bellows of engines releasing pressure from small pipes. The cries of the men on deck, only to be partly covered by a station blaring Jimmy Buffet music, regardless of the season. Morgan always liked the beach, and he tried to visit when the tourists left after the summer season was over. He knew the team would find it odd that he enjoyed the beach the most in the winter, especially because of the absence of scantily clad women sauntering around with skin glistening from tanning oil. There were things, Morgan supposed, that even he kept secret from the team.

The minute he had stepped out of his car, Clooney rushed past him, running straight for the freezing surf, chasing the foam it created at the point where the sand met the water's edge. Morgan laughed at the silliness of it, and the sound echoed across the emptiness. He walked towards the water, hands in pockets, watching as his shoes left imprints in the wet sand. The wind numbed the tips of his ears, and he inhaled deeply, wanting to savor the salty, fresh air.

After Reid had been gone about a month, and Morgan was not prepared for the massive rush of emotions he felt. First, he had been angry, so incredibly angry, that Hotch had pulled him into his office, asking if he needed time off. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt anyone on the team, but criminals were receiving rough handlings, interrogations were becoming stand offs, and Morgan was afraid he'd go too far without actually being cognizant of his breaking point. That was the danger in carrying a concealed weapon. One day, you never knew if you'd snap and you certainly never fathomed the damage you could inflict. Hotch had seen the furry in his eyes, and when he requested a meeting, Morgan understood why.

_**About two and a half months prior:**_

"_Morgan," Hotch surveyed the agent sitting in front of him and wondered why his team seemed to be falling apart at the seams, starting with the agents he had expected not to dissolve. "You and I both know why I called you in here."_

"_I know." Hotch took this as a good sign that there was no anger. In fact, Morgan sounded dejected. Tired, depressed, but not angry like he had been so often lately._

"_If you need time off, let me know." Morgan's shook his head no, so Hotch continued. "What's going on?" A sigh, a gruff hand rubbing on his face, and then Morgan stated what Hotch had not expected._

"_I don't know. I've been really angry ever since..." he trailed off, unsure if what he was about to say was actually the truth. "Reid told me about his addiction." _

"_Are you mad at Reid?" Hotch asked. "If you are, you know that's normal. Addiction just doesn't hurt the addicted" Morgan thought there was more, but was not surprised when Hotch stopped speaking._

"_No," Morgan shook his head. "I think I'm angrier with myself." Hotch met his eyes._

"_He hid it from us, Derek. You know that."_

"_We should have done something sooner. Anything. Maybe we could have-"_

"_We" Hotch interrupted. "You," he emphasized, "did do something, though." Hotch's voice was soft and Morgan had been thrown off by its tone. Was that an emotion he detected? "Reid's getting the help he needs right now, and that's mostly your doing."_

"_I feel like I failed him," Morgan looked at his scuffed shoes. "Reid looks up to me, Hotch. He trusts me, and I didn't step in until things were very clearly out of control." Hotch saw the same guilt, and he knew it was time to be honest._

"_I'm mad too." Morgan looked up, surprised. "In a way, you're right. We should have done something sooner, but we can't change the past, however much we want to. Reid's going to come back and he's going to need support, especially your support." Morgan nodded, understanding Hotch's insinuated orders._

"_Is it normal to feel-" Morgan began._

"_Responsible?" Hotch finished his question for him. How Hotch knew, Morgan wasn't sure. Maybe it was a lucky guess. Maybe he could read the subtle cues in his body language. Or maybe, Morgan realized, Hotch had some experience he never shared because, in his boss's eyes, Morgan saw that Hotch empathized on a level he had neither expressed nor shown. And when it left in a flash, Morgan felt reassured in a way he could not explain._

"_I think you know the answer," Hotch said. Morgan nodded, let the moment pass, and had not lashed out again._

Clooney charged towards Morgan, who bent down to his level, arms outstretched towards the sopping, sandy, energetic mutt.

"What's this?" He asked, fighting Clooney for the stick clasped in his teeth. He laughed when Clooney pulled back, but released the wood all the same. Morgan stood up, took a step back, and hurled the stick as far it would go. Clooney did not waste a moment, and sprinted outwards before the wood had even left Morgan's hand.

The ocean was beginning to pull out to a low tide, and Morgan watched as the shoreline grew longer and more defined. Clooney, bored with the stick, began tormenting a flock of seagulls, chasing them in droves as they flew away, only to shortly regain interest once they regrouped in a different area. Morgan saw his surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying another scene.

_**About Three Months Prior:**_

"_Hey JJ," she turned towards him, car keys in hand, as her blond hair slammed into the sides of her cheeks. The summer air had left abruptly, causing fall to hit with harsh, cold winds and frosty mornings. The parking lot faced a field and when the wind picked up, it rushed forward with relentless force._

"_Yeah?" _

"_Can I talk to you for a minute?" She nodded, eying him with a slight suspicion and curiosity. Morgan couldn't blame her for treating him that way. After the Hankel case, they had been reduced to professional formalities and courtesies, but neither could forget the confrontation in Tobias's kitchen: "The truth is, one of you is here and one of you isn't."_

"_I wanted to apologize," he watched her eyes widen. "I'm sorry about how I treated you during the Hankel case and especially for what I said in the kitchen. I was upset about what happened, but I took it out on you. It could have been any one of us." JJ's eyes were now in bright contrast to their gray surroundings. She opened her mouth and closed it, as if she did not know what to say. _

"_Let me guess," he began. "Reid figured out Hankel was the unsub?" She nodded. "And he suggested you guys split up?" JJ's eye grew wider._

"_How did you know?"_

"_I know how Reid is when he's figured something out." Morgan couldn't help the smile that drew his lips upward. "There was no way you were going to stop him at that point." JJ didn't return his smile, and Morgan saw then the guilt she harbored as she tucked her head inwards, directing her expression at the tops of her shoes._

"_It's not your fault, JJ." She sighed, tucking stray hairs behind her ears that the wind immediately tousled._

"_Sometimes I think I should have done something, you know?" She asked, avoiding Morgan's eyes."I feel like I should have seen the addiction..."_

"_Me too." He confessed. They were silent for a moment as the wind howled around them._

"_I was asking for reassurance," JJ admitted. "That night in Hankel's kitchen, I wanted you to tell me he'd be OK." Her saw her eyes fill with tears, but whether they were from the wind's harshness or their conversation, Morgan couldn't tell. _

"_And I wanted you to do the same." He said. She nodded, understanding._

"_You miss him?" It was not a question as much as it was a statement. Morgan nodded yes._

"_Don't worry about Reid, Derek." She spoke while lowering herself into her car. "You're right," a quick grin. "Once he puts his mind to something, you can't stop him."_

Morgan wanted to believe her, but he reached his hands deep into his pocket to remember. The glass was cool and unassuming, bearing no knowledge that the liquid inside could destroy more than one world. This was not the first time Morgan held the vials in his hands. Since he dropped Reid off at treatment, he had handled the bottles many times. On nights he couldn't sleep, or, more likely, in the darkness of his bedroom after nightmares left him on edge. During difficult cases, when a quick touch meant that things could still, somewhat impossibly, be worse. And during countless, aimless car rides where he just drove not because he had a place to go, but because he did not know where to go. Sometimes, Morgan even wondered what it would be like to inject the Dilaudid. What had made Reid want to escape so badly?

The waves had eased their relentless pounding and, for now, lapped at the shoreline in a tired manner that reminded Morgan of the flutter of sleep-filled eyelids. Hotch said Reid could receive written letters, but he could not respond, and although he was allowed visitors on Sundays, Hotch strongly discouraged any of the BAU members from going to see him. Morgan agreed, although he swore that a few members of the team did sneak off to see Reid. The morning after Reid's drunken confessions, he knew Reid needed to deal with things on his own terms and Morgan was committed to keeping that the truth, at least, on his end. Whatever his colleagues did on their own time was their business.

But Morgan always had a thought that taunted him endlessly, especially in the dark of night when he finally retreated underneath the softness of sheets. _What if,_ Morgan's brain debated, _Reid doesn't ask for help when another difficult time comes? What if this all just goes right back to where it was before? _Morgan would never tell Reid this, but those thoughts alone had created more nightmares in the past few weeks than any criminal ever had. It felt as though his brain could not conjure enough scenarios in which Reid overdosed, was shot during a deal gone wrong, or so lost to addiction that he no longer was the man Morgan knew him to be.

_You can always talk me, Reid. _Morgan thought, watching a boat disappear into the horizon. _You know I'll help you. _Morgan thought back to what it was like to be in his twenties- Reid's age. The pressure to conform to the professional world when you were, in fact, really still living between adolescence and the new responsibilities that came with adulthood. Reid had always been more mature than his peers, but that maturity rested more with his intellectual abilities-not his emotional ones. Morgan knew Reid's IQ and family dynamics had made his childhood limited, but he sometimes wondered if Reid knew this. The kid couldn't help being lost sometimes. The vials in Morgan's hand felt warm from his grip and, suddenly, he understood what to do.

"Sorry, Reid" Morgan gave the clear liquid one last glance. "But this isn't a choice now." In one motion, he brought his arm back and then propelled it forward with such force that he felt the muscles in his shoulders stretch to capacity. The familiar burn, ache, and then release. The bottles became specks against an overcast sky, and Morgan did not wait for the sea to swallow them whole. Instead, he turned his back to the ocean, called for Clooney, and followed his footsteps back to the car. The drugs would not be there when Reid returned, but he would.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hi everyone. For my first order of business, and I should have said this about two chapters ago, theluckylama17 and I realized that we are both too busy in real life to work as a writing-beta team. I still want to give her a huge thanks, though-her edits were original, helpful, and genuine. I liked working with her, but sometimes life doesn't work out that way. That being said, all of the grammatical, spelling, and other mistakes are mine.  
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** This next chapter includes some information and quotes I obtained from 'The Fisher King," episode 1.22, and "The Last Word," which is episode 2.9. I know that I've altered time a little bit concerning Reid's drug problem. For writing's sake, I hope that everyone can overlook that somewhat...  
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******Also, I used direct quotes from J.D. Salinger's _The Catcher in the Rye. _Because these quotations are within dialogue, I simply put these phrases in italics. Obviously, those quotes are not mine and are only intended for fictional use. As a side note, if you haven't read the book, I'd totally recommend it. It's one of my favs :) **

******Lastly, thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. Some people have mentioned that the girls of the BAU haven't been represented very much and I can't say I disagree. For those of you missing JJ, Emily, and Penelope, don't worry-they're the stars of many POV chapters to come. **

******Alright enough AN-enjoy the next update, and please let me what you think-good and/or bad.**

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_"And she said, 'why can't you be someone looking a little deeper into me, like J.D. Salinger?' Why do I challenge her in all these selfish ways that you displease? Why can't you be a little more at ease?"-Third Eye Blind "Why Can't You Be?"_

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In the common room, Reid watched the other patients greet friends and family members with large hugs and booming hellos. Although they only had morning and evening group on Sundays, Reid found he anticipated the first day of the week, visiting days, with a growing sense of what he could only place as a mixture of excitement and accompanying disappointment. Reid understood that Hotch had instructed the team not to visit him, but he couldn't help but _wish _someone went against Hotch's orders anyway. It made sense that this was his journey and he had to do it alone, but Reid could not stop the feeling of sadness that entered his chest as he watched Tony greet his sister, his young niece and nephew, and his brother-in-law. Spencer was polite and interacted with Tony's family, even showing the two young children a magic trick before Tony took them on a tour of the grounds. A few moments later, Mike introduced him to his sister who was tall, skinny, and had the same piercing green eyes as Mike. Reid profiled her shamelessly, knowing by the paint under her fingernails that she was the artist of the family, which he asserted as correct when she mentioned her last gallery show. Mike beamed at Reid with a facial expression that told Reid that although he did not understand her career choice, he supported and was proud of it anyway. After about ten minutes, they left for a tour as well, and Reid was left in the very noise, crowded common room. Wanting to remove himself from the loud chatter and misplaced laughter, Reid slipped out the side door onto the grounds where more, but still less, patients were walking with friends and family, enjoying the last bits of fall before winter ushered in with snow and gray skies.

He didn't have a plan, but the air was crisp, smelled of burning leaves, pine, and too-ripe apples, and Reid felt his anxiety loosen its grasp around his stomach as he meandered down the well-worn path, keeping his eyes fixated on the quickly disappearing colorful borderline of trees at the edge of the rehab's property. More leaves were on the ground than the tree branches now, and the dead, dry flakes crunched under his sneakers while his legs led him to a set of benches on the top of a slight hill. Having disappeared here once or twice during free time, Reid was ready to watch the beautiful surroundings in peace. What he was no prepared for was company. Particularly, _her _company.

"Dr. Reid." He had turned to leave when he saw her long blond hair and familiar outfit of well-fitted jeans and a long-sleeved thermal that accentuated her lifeless eyes that reminded Reid of JJ in ways that bothered him at the deepest, most internal levels of homesickness. In his attempt to escape unseen and unnoticed, he had turned too forcefully, pressing leaves against the bottoms of his shoes. When the deafening sound of twisted dryness filled the air, he knew he had been caught.

"Hi Melinda." He mumbled, shoving hands in pockets while turning to face her. She studied him over the cover of a book that Reid immediately recognized. _Why does that reading choice not surprise me? _He asked himself.

"You want to sit down?" Her voice was different than all the other times he had conversed with her. It was soft, feminine, and, if Reid's quick profile of its tone was correct, lonely. He shrugged, walked forward, and sunk into the cold wood.

"Catcher in the Rye?" He asked, nodding towards her book while keeping his eyes on the horizon. The sun's rays felt slightly warm, but the chill seeping in from underneath kept Reid's body temperature on the cooler side.

"It's one of my favorites," Melinda looked at the book. "I don't even know why I bother to read it. I probably can recite it by heart at this point." Reid raised his eyebrows, a slight competitive twinkling lining his eyes as he turned to face Melinda.

"_It was that kind of crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you feel like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road._" He watched her face crinkle in recognition.

"That's only chapter one," she grinned, and Reid couldn't help but be astonished at the transformation he saw. Her eyes were alive, dancing in the fall sunlight. Her hair fell in golden waves, cascading down her back, appearing bright against the forest green shirt she wore. If Spencer had not known her usual mask, the surge of attraction would not have caught him off guard.

"_Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody_." Reid quoted again, imagining the page number and words when he did so.

"Chapter twenty-six, very impressive, Dr. Reid." Melinda smiled again. "But how about this one?"

"_Anyway, I keep picturing all of these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around-nobody big I mean-except me. And I'm standing on the edge of this crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to start to catch everyone if they go over the cliff. I mean, if they're running and they don't look where they're going, I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher and the rye and all-_"

"_I know it's crazy_," Reid interrupted, knowing what came next. He was not surprised when Melinda's voice mingled with his own.

"_But that's the only thing I'd really like to be._" Melinda smiled again, looking down at her book so her face covered her hair. Who was this strange, new person? If anything, Reid liked her more than the other Melinda he interacted with the vast majority of the time.

"You know," he began, studying a hawk in the distance as it swooped downwards into the forest. "Sociopaths use the Catcher in the Rye as some kind of doctrine. Chapman quoted it after killing Lennon."

"I know." Melinda's voice had deflated, as if the temporary joy that a favorite novel could bring was the only thing that could remove her from her surroundings. Reid felt the heaviness around them, but could not place how it came to be.

"I still like it." He offered this as a sign of peace and was relieved when she sent him a small smile.

"Yeah, me too." She placed the book between them, surveying the trees a few miles away. In the silence that followed, Reid could not help but feel somewhat calm.

"So," he began, glancing at her bright eyes once more. "No one visits you on Sundays either?" She snorted, scrunching her face into what Reid recognized as pained amusement.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a people person." She joked. He nodded, speaking softly when he found the words.

"But your family doesn't ever come?" She bit her bottom lip, met his eyes for a moment, and returned her gaze outwards at the nature surrounding them.

"My family disowned me a long time ago. My father left when I was a kid," Reid felt the surge of sympathy, although he tried to keep his face void of feeling. "And my mother..." Melinda trailed off

"You don't get along?" Reid asked. Melinda shrugged again, bringing her hand to her face as if smoking an imaginary cigarette.

"If you want to call it that. She's never really been in my life much..." Melinda trailed off again, eyes darting in Reid's direction.

"Sorry." He mumbled. It felt weird to ask Melinda about her personal life, but Reid couldn't help his own curiosity.

"Don't be. She's a bitch." Melinda's voice was flat, displacing her earlier soft tone. "The only thing she cares about is her next drink."

"She's an alcoholic?" He asked. Melinda nodded, continuing as her head bobbed up and down.

"Do you known addiction runs in families?" Reid bit his lip, concentrating deeply when his thoughts surged to the surface: _So does Schizophrenia._

"My brother isn't much better than my mother, although his poison is heroin. Last I heard, he was homeless in Detroit." For all her silence and icy stares, Reid could not help but wonder if Melinda really talked to anyone, even her therapist. Her guard was definitely down, and Reid could not understand why she chose him. Spencer couldn't help his own mind from replaying the words he had once told Garcia:_ People always tell me their secrets because they know I have no one to tell them to._

"And my sister hates me..." This time, Reid had to concentrate on staying in his seat when Melinda's tone wavered with emotion.

"I'm sure-"

"You have no idea what I've done to her." Melinda crossed her arms over her chest in a classic defensive stance, and Reid looked downwards, somewhat ashamed that he had tried to reassure Melinda without prior knowledge.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He apologized again. She eyed him curiously for a moment before speaking.

"How about you? I figured that one of your teammates would show up." It was Reid's turn to avoid eye contact and he did so with a fixated trance on his scuffed sneakers.

"If I know my boss, he ordered them not to because this," Reid help his hands in the air to make quotation marks with his fingers, "has to be my journey." He wasn't sure if Hotch had said those words exactly, but he and Melinda, along with the other patients, heard it on a daily basis. She laughed slightly and they fell silent once more.

"Sorry. I've heard a lot about the BAU." Melinda admitted. Reid nodded. In the ranks of the FBI and CIA, his team was somewhat well-known. "I figured you guys were close." Melinda picked at her nail bed, and Reid bite his bottom lip to keep his emotions at bay. Although he understood, it hurt him that no one-not even Gideon-had come to visit so far.

"They're following orders." He offered.

"And you're the only one who breaks them?" Melinda questioned, saying what Reid had wondered. One of them was bound to want to come, he figured, but no one had. During some of his sleepless night tossing and turning, Reid wondered who would breakdown first. Which teammate would make the trip up the winding mountain roads? His money was on Garcia, but, so far, no such luck, although Reid realized he'd give anything to see one of her colorful, cheerful outfits with its accompanying bright accessories.

"How about your family?" Melinda asked.

"My mom isn't in the best state to be here." He mentioned, not elaborating. To his surprised, Melinda did not push for an explanation.

"I'm guessing you're not close to your father?" She asked. Reid nodded, no explanation once more, watching the tree branches sway in the breeze. A silence wrapped steadily forward, pushing Reid's hair into a seies of tangles. His fingers became numb, and he shoved them deeper into his pockets. Melinda sighed, ran her fingers through her hair own gnarled hair, tilting her face towards the sun. No words were exchanged, and Reid found he didn't mind. Oddly, this silence, sunlight, and Melinda's presence was comforting.

"I should probably get back. It's getting dark." Melinda spoke, but Reid did not know how long it had been since they had last conversed. She was right, though, it was getting dark. It would be dinner time soon, signaling the end of visiting hours, the oncoming evening group session, and the eventual oncoming of night.

"Alright. I'm going to stay here a bit longer." He told her. She nodded, rising to her feet with one last look at the woods bordering the property.

"_What I was really hanging around for,_" Melinda spoke in the same soft voice she used earlier, and Reid could not help the smile that pulled his lips upwards, "_I was trying to feel some kind of goodbye. I mean, I've left schools and places I didn't even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don't care if it's a sad goodbye or a bad goodbye, but when I leave a place, I like to know I'm leaving it-_"

"_If you don't,_" Reid interrupted again, finishing the line for Melinda. "_You feel even worse_." Melinda smiled peering at the dirt, pushed her hair behind her ear in a childish type way, and nodded towards Spencer.

"Goodbye, Dr. Reid." Without another glance, she began the assent towards the rehab facility. Reid watched her until she was a far-off speck and then turned back to the fading day-content to watch the night enveloped into blackness around him.


	26. Chapter 26

**As a quick note, this has only been edited by me so all the mistakes are mine. I've had some beta offers, which is very appreciated, and I'm still thinking things through. Right now, I want to get some of these chapters out of the way so I can get to the good stuff...**

**And thank you to everyone who leaves such heartfelt, thoughtful, and kind reviews. I know I always say thanks, but I can't explain how deeply grateful I am to receive such amazing comments. It's both flattering and humbling.  
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**I hope to have the next chapter up by the end of the weekend, but, until then, enjoy this one. :)  
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_"Tell me, how did you let them in? We were all silent secret agents, but the resistance is wearing thin. Dissent is now illegal-she must pay the consequence."-Third Eye Blind "Red Star"_

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"Come on, Pen," JJ looked at Garcia with wide blue eyes. "_Please_. I know you can figure out where he is." Garcia sighed, ponytails bobbing slightly, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She _knew _this question would come sooner or later and she shouldn't have been surprised that it was JJ who asked first.

"Jayj," Garcia struggled to find the right words to comfort her friend. "Hotch said we shouldn't try to contact Reid." JJ glared at her with eyes that were now scarily composed.

"I need to see him." Garcia sighed again. Something told her she wouldn't win this battle. The tiny, dark room felt warm, heated by the multiple computer towers that composed the system in Garcia's office.

"It may not even be in here." Garcia said, already turning towards the black keyboard accented by various, colorful figurines and flouncy, feather-decorated pens.

"Well, we know he's at a rehab for people in this profession. If Morgan drove him, it can't be too far." JJ began.

"How do you know Morgan took Reid?" Garcia queried, turning to face the media liaison. Penelope knew because Morgan told her, but how JJ found out, she had no idea.

"I have my ways." JJ did not meet the analyst's gaze, and Garcia turned back to the keyboards.

"I hate profilers..." She mumbled. Yes, she was curious to see where Reid was too, but she had her nightly emails. That was enough. As much as she hated to admit it, Hotch was right-this was Reid's journey.

"I'm not a profiler,' JJ argued.

"Please," Penelope joked. "You can fend of an army of reporters with a stoic stare. You're a female Hotch." Although she had no expected it, Garcia was glad to hear JJ chuckle. It had been a while since the warm sound had penetrated her ears.

"I know it sucks not knowing how Reid's doing, JJ, but maybe," Garcia looked at her friend once more, noticing how she avoided meeting her gaze, "Maybe Hotch is right. Maybe Reid needs to do this on his own."

"And I suppose what happened after the aftermath the Hankel case was his way of dealing with everything on his own too?" This time, JJ locked eyes with Garcia, who broke the barrier first.

"I dunno about this JJ," Garcia debated, frowning at the blond standing next to her chair. "What if Hotch finds out?" For a fleeting moment, Garcia imagined Hotch's eyes actually shooting fire at her.

"Please." The soft, pleading voice broke Garcia's heart in two. She bit her bottom lip and watched as her hands moved for themselves. She knew this was wrong on a professional level, but her instincts, which she so often relied on, told her that it wasn't the worst thing she could do. JJ was her friend and if she needed to see Reid, who was Garcia to stop this urge?

"Alright, let's see what I can find…" There was a flourish of fingers on black keys, and the familiar, comforting sound of pressing plastic filled Garcia's ears.

"Alright, there are a total of 50 rehabs in the state of Virgina."

"Ok, well, narrow that down to anything within a few hours from here." In a few taps, the number disappeared to 15.

"Make sure none of those are women's only facilities." Two disappeared. JJ stared at the screen, estimating the few facts she knew.

"JJ-" Garcia began. Instincts or not, Garcia didn't like how wrong this felt. Hotch always had a reason for requesting certain boundaries, whether for personal or professional instances.

"Look, Penelope," JJ's voice was angry, but wavering, although Garcia noted it wasn't from rage. "I know what Hotch said, and I don't give two shits." Garcia blinked, trying to hide the surprise that she knew lined her face. Since when was JJ this vulgar?

"I haven't slept well since Hotch told us, ok?" JJ tried to keep her voice void of feeling, but Garcia sensed the large expanse of the last few weeks rushing forward. Her bottom lip trembled, her eyes welled, and it would just be a matter of time before everything spilled over into the open.

"Oh, JJ…" Garcia trailed off, grabbing the agent's hand in her own. As if Garcia's grasp was granting her permission, JJ let the tears push outwards, traveling down her cheeks.

"It's _my _fault Reid got into that mess in the first place." Garcia knew it came down to this-to the fact that JJ and Reid had split up that night on the Hankel farm, and it had been Reid, not her, who had been taken by Tobias. It was a point everyone on the team argued against because it could have been any one of them in that situation, but it had been a steadfast source of guilt for JJ.

"You know that it's not your fault." Garcia argued.

"That's not how it feels." The only sound in the cave-like room was the hum of computer monitors.

"I have to go visit Spence. I have to know he's okay." JJ didn't know how to explain the unidentifiable panic that filled her whole. On most days, she could quell its rising by mundane mounds of paperwork, the new cases she presented to the team, or the endless thudding of her feet against the treadmill's gray conveyor belt. It was all too easy to forget the dark Georiga night, the blood soaked barn, the foamed and fanged mouths of the dogs, and the images of Reid being tortured on a blurred computer screen. Yet, at night, the memories of what had been or what could have been assaulted JJ's subconscious, filling her with a very real sense of dread that she _had _to see Reid.

"Alright," Garcia nodded, blinking away her own tears. Guilt burned in her stomach, but her friends needed her. This was not the time to argue.

"This center," Garcia scanned the _Adam's Rehabilitation Center _website contents for further proof that it was where Reid was. "Says it's for law enforcement professionals."

"What kind?" JJ felt something similar to electricity surge through her veins.

"Their website says military, cops, detectives…" Garcia swallowed deeply before continuing. "And government officials." JJ did not dare release her next breath, speaking very quickly.

"Where is it?"

"Two hours away." Garcia knew she was right when the immediate,unmistakable warmth hit her bloodstream.

"He's there," JJ whispered. Garcia nodded, staring at her motionless, ring-decorated fingertips hovering above the keyboard. She knew, with just a few taps, she could hack into the rehab's system, finding every little detail about Reid, his treatment, and anything else she'd possibly want to know.

"I can lose my job, you know?" Garcia mentioned flatly. She had to make JJ realize that she had submitted to her initial request, but would go no further in her attempts.

"I know, Penelope." JJ's posture was suddenly straight. Her eyes had lost their glossiness, and determination set her jaw firmly in a hard line.

"Thanks. I really appreciate it." JJ gave Garcia's shoulders a strong squeeze. The look Garcia was receiving from the blue orbs told her the statement was true. She sighed, exhausted.

"Just keep it on the DL okay?" JJ nodded vehemently, her blond hair shaking slightly against her shoulders.

"I owe you, Garcia." Penelope watched as JJ turned towards the door, stopping when her hand reached the cool knob.

"Don't worry about it. You'd do the same for me." JJ smiled and nodded, asserting Garcia's statement as correct.

"Do you want me to tell him you say hi and that you miss him?" It was more a statement than a question. Garcia felt a shaky smile tug her lips upwards.

"Of course." She agreed, turning back to her computer screens once JJ disappeared into the hallway, closing the door to the outside world behind her.


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello CM readers! Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. Seriously, you guys are insightful, funny, and very kind. On that note, I'm aware that, after the previous chapter, this chapter isn't so kind. Many of you are curious as to when JJ will visit Reid, and I do plan on that reunion, so to speak, but a few things need to happen plot-wise first... **

**That being said, this chapter is not reviewed by a beta and I like running, so I added that in here. Also, I'm aware how evil I am, but I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway. :)**

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"_And I guess I lost my way. There were oh so many roads. I was living to run and running to live-never worrying about paying or even how much I owed. Moving eight miles a minute for months at a time, breaking all the rules that would bend, I began to find myself searching, searching for shelter again and again."-Bob Seger, "Against the Wind"_

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_**About Three Weeks Prior**_**:**

_"Tell me something you're bad at. You know, something you don't excel in." Dr. B pushed. Although he still had not told the doctor about the case in Georgia and all of its effects on his life, the young agent had already made remarkable progress, and his new sense of confidence was shown through his open body language. Currently, he sat in jeans, a blue t-shirt that made his eyes pop outwards, and a pair of tennis shoes. His skin was a light brown from working outside, and Reid placed both his arms on the chair's sides, inviting the prying._

_"I've never been good at physical stuff. You know, sports and athletics." Dr. B glanced at Reid's long legs and lanky frame._

_"Why's that?" Reid smiled._

_"Books and school were always more my thing."_

_"Did you ever participate in a sport?" Reid thought before speaking._

_"I think T-ball once, but I was really young." Dr. B nodded, as if he was harboring some secret Reid was not aware of, but would know very shortly. Reid crossed his arms across his chest and waited for what he knew was coming._

_"I guess that settles it, Dr. Reid." Dr. B grinned, and Reid felt the dread boil in his stomach. Something told him he was not going to like what came next. "Your homework for today, and for as long as you're here, is going to be to try new things, especially those that make you uncomfortable."_

_"Gardening is new." Reid pointed out to the Doctor who looked like he was enjoying himself immensely._

_"That doesn't make you uncomfortable, though." Reid nodded his head no._

_"I don't see why I can't try anything," he complained, knowing the answer as it left the Dr. B's lips._

_"Because, Spencer, you and I know that part of your addiction was escaping anxiety and uncomfortable thoughts and feelings. If you try things you feel no particular inclination for whatsoever, then you're just trying something new. However, if you try something you've always disliked or even feared, chances are you'll learn a lot about yourself and how to cope with these overwhelming feelings of fear and anxiety you've described to me." Reid felt as though he had been hit in the chest by a sack of bricks. In their previous session, he had explained that the drug abuse made his panic stop. His rampant thoughts only subdued by narcotics, alcohol, or what could have been a deadly combination of the two. _

_While the anxiety had subsided greatly since his arrival, Reid found that the nights were the worst. He was physically exhausted, but he couldn't help the reminders of his past from surging forward. In the darkness, he went over the countless cases that could have been worse. He saw the Georgia sky, Tobias, and remembered the conversation with Morgan. Eventually, the past became the present where Reid realized he had no idea how his coworkers were fairing. What if something happened to one of them while he was gone? Were the cases negatively affecting them? Did they need his help? These thoughts and feelings usually led to a few hours of sleep, nightly poker games with the nurses, and the consumption of an alarming amount of coffee._

_"So," Reid began after a long moment. "You're saying I need to try a sport?"_

_"Exactly. We have facilities here." Reid thought of the gym and could not imagine playing basketball with the other patients, or tennis, or kickball, or even lifting weights. He must have looked pained because Dr. B spoke gently._

_"You're tall and thin-"_

_"Thanks." Reid grumbled, not liking how frequently everyone, patients included, commented on his wiry frame. Dr. B gave Reid a small smile._

_"I was going to suggest running." Reid's eyebrows arched in surprise._

_"Why not?" Dr. B contemplated. "Your build is conducive for it, and I'm sure it's something you have to do on the job anyway." Reid nodded, remembering countless times he felt the hairs on his arms singe at oncoming explosions of fire or the times he had surged forward, gun extended, after some unsub. The job, at that moment, felt so far removed from his everyday life._

_"I guess I can try that" Reid relented._

_"Alright, early morning free time or evening free time then, although I've seen you walking in the morning. If that works for you, try running." Reid ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Why did this task feel so intrusive?_

**Present Day:**

When he first began running, Reid did not know what to with his legs. It seemed as though that the combination of the cold air, his malnourished body, and his own mindset against physical activity were forces working against him. He made it ten minutes the morning of his first run, having to stop to clutch the stabbing pain in his ribcage. The next day, however, Reid made it twelve minutes before having to stop in fear his lungs would explode. He complained to Dr. B, who told him to "give it a week." Begrudgingly, Reid did what he was told, and was startled to find that with each passing morning, running became easier. By the end of his second week, Reid was averaging three miles every days, and, even more surprisingly, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

The morning was crisp and new as Reid stepped out onto the paths surrounding the rehab facility. As he jogged a slow warm-up pace, Reid noticed that most of the trees were barren, as their leaves covered the ground in a colorful, dry blanket. They slipped against the grass and crunched under his feet, and Reid concentrated on exhaling and inhaling with each stride he made. Ahead of him, the path snaked around the fields, farm land, and the tiny creek set at the edge of the property. On these morning runs, Reid's thoughts became clear and sharp. The nightmares he experienced only hours earlier became fragments of memory, and Reid understood that soon, very soon, he'd have to start talking about Tobias and Georgia and everything that came about because of it. For now, he realized, running was enough. It had to be.

The conversation about Georgia and the admittance of personal problems and failures had been things Spencer had become increasingly nervous about revealing, and he found that he used every trick he knew to avoid this topic both in group and individual therapy. Reid figured it was safe to talk about addiction and the empty spaces inside of him. It was harmless to talk about how his intelligence caused him to have awkward social skills and an atypical upbringing. It was completely understandable to discuss how the job swallowed his life whole and, on occasion, it was alright to confess that, sometimes, cases wouldn't leave him and, more often than not, they followed him into his sleep. However, it was not alright to let Tobias and the aftermath he inflicted out into the open, especially because it took immense will power to keep the night in Georgia inside of him. The memories felt oppressive, overwhelming, and still too real.

He picked up the pace, enjoying the burning sensation in his lungs. _This is how it feels to be alive, _his brain registered, and Reid smiled at nothing in particular. He couldn't place when, how, or why, but these morning runs were what he most anticipated. On the nights before he ran, Reid laid out his workout clothes, running shoes, and planned which paths he'd run. On some mornings, he took the roads leading into the woods that had obstructing tree roots and dim light because the sun's rays could not reach through the dense branches. Other days, the open air of the farmland slashed his skin, staining his cheeks, ears, and nose a bright red that remained imprinted in red patches for hours afterwords. And, other times, it was the route around the outskirts of the property that Reid enjoyed for the sheer simplicity that he could see everything: the center, the mountains, the woods, and the dormitories. Nothing surprised him on that path.

But, on a Wednesday morning at the end of his 2.5 mile run, Reid had been so busy watching his feet, he almost ran by Melinda, who was ankle deep in the creek that trickled through the property. He slowed to a jog and watched as she bent, touching the water's surface with long fingers. On the bank, her sneakers and socks sat neatly placed next to a stump. It was cold, and Melinda only wore rolled up jeans and a long sleeved thermal.

"Hey, Melinda." Reid let his curiosity speak and act for him as he stopped, panting slightly. _What the hell is she doing in the fucking water? _His asked himself.

"Hello Dr. Reid." Melinda looked upwards, brushing some of her long hair out of her eyes. The weak morning sun made it glimmer. Inside, Reid's heart skipped a beat, although he knew it wasn't from his exercise. He could already tell that unlike their last conversation, this one would involve the guarded, fragmented Melinda and not the feminine, emotional Melinda.

"What are you doing? That water has to be freezing." Reid observed the babbling creek a few yards away. Underneath the liquid, Melinda's bare feet were bright red.

"It's not so bad," Melinda shrugged. "It kind of feels good."

"I thought you didn't have morning grounds privileges?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. For some unknown reason that no one could really understand, Melinda was on a list of ten or so patients who were not allowed morning free time.

"There are ways around restrictions, Dr. Reid." She surveyed him with eyes as flat as ice over a pond. "You should understand that." He watched as Melinda grabbed the loose fabric of her jeans around her thighs and waded over rocks to the half-frozen grass.

"How's your running going?" She asked, shoving socks over wet feet.

"Alright," Reid smiled. "I kind of like it actually." Melinda stood to her full height, and, for the first time, Reid realized that she was as tall as he was. At her vantage point, Reid could not avoid her eyes, and he found that something in his stomach lurched. It reminded him of the feeling he usually got right before a case went catastrophically wrong.

"Do you miss it?" She whispered, biting her bottom lip so forcefully that Reid saw blood. Her eyes looked past him, through him almost, and he felt a twinge of fear rise. _Something isn't right here, _his brain warned.

"Miss what?" Reid looked at the ground and his worn sneakers.

"I'd say the job, but you and I both know that's not what I'm discussing." Melinda pushed her hair behind her ear.

"You mean drugs?" Reid's voice was cracked, dry, and barely above a whisper. Melinda nodded, catching his eyes once more. Reid did not want to say yes, but the minute he knew what she was referencing, the longing came back. It was alright during the day, when there were groups to attend, farming to accomplish, and games of cards or chess with Tony and Mike. It was even alright during his nightly journaling and daily goal setting. It was more than okay during his runs, but, standing in the deserted field, Reid couldn't help himself when he felt a longing for the floating sensations each one of his muscles experienced, the nights of dreamless oblivion, and the feeling of the world separating into disjointed lapses of time.

"See," she smiled in a manner that made Reid want to run as far away as possible. "You're an addict."

"I already know that," he pointed out.

"True," she debated, reaching her hand out to touch Reid's cheek. It was unbelievably warm on his skin. "What you don't know, Dr. Reid, is what I'm addicted to." Melinda twirled a piece of Reid's hair around her long fingertip, and, although he wanted to pull away, Reid felt paralyzed.

"You're right, I don't. " Reid took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "We all don't." Melinda leaned her head backwards towards the sky, and laughed so loudly and bitterly, Reid jumped in surprise. When she regained composure to face him once more, Reid noticed her eyes were bright, as if a light bulb had suddenly been switched to on. _Something is really wrong, _his brain screamed.

"You and I," Melinda began while reaching deep into her pants pocket for something, "aren't so different." Reid did not comprehend her movements, but he felt the weight of cool glass in his palm before she closed his fingers over it.

"I think we're very different, actually." He argued, not enjoying the anxiety surging through his veins or the way Melinda had assumed he was as fucked up as she was. Melinda chuckled half-halfheartedly and began walking backwards towards the buildings.

"We're both here, Dr. Reid." She smiled a grin that sent shivers down Reid's spine. "So, really, we're the same."

Reid waited until she was a speck in the distance before bring his hand up from his side and unfurling his fingertips. And, when he saw the bottle with its familiar liquid, he didn't know if he should scream, cry, or rejoice. How long had it been since he was this close to nothingness? When was the last time he allowed himself to escape, to really forget everything, and to dive headfirst into the unknown? Reid tried to remember, he wanted to, but it felt as though the world as a slow moving train, with pieces of the semi-blurred surroundings encasing his view. _This is what you want, _he told himself. Almost another thought surfaced simultaneously: _This is what can destroy you. _Later on, Reid realized he should have immediately thought: _How did she get this?_

Overhead, a crow shrieked, and Reid rocketed upwards. Shoving the vial of Dilaudid into his sweatpants pocket, Reid began his run again, trying to understand what had just transpired. With each stride, the cool glass rhythmically struck his leg, chanting a mantra that Reid wish he had never known at all: _Don't tell me it doesn't help._


	28. Chapter 28

**Hi everyone! Before I begin, just a few house-keeping details to take care of: First, JJ will visit Reid, but there are a few plot aspects that need to happen first, so, if you can, stay with me, I promise you'll be rewarded with her visit. Second, I'm aware Prentiss's POV has largely been ignored and, trust me, she'll have her share later on in the story. Third, this chapter may be a little out of character, but let's just call that my poetic license. And, lastly, I am still between betas because my life is a bit too chaotic right now to collaborate with someone. That being said, I own all the mistakes that follow.  
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**Also, thank you to everyone who left such wonderful reviews. When I first started this story, I never imagined how far my imagination would take it (crazily enough, I meant it to be a one-shot or, at most, a three-shot!) or if anyone would enjoy reading it because the topic is a bit commonplace on the CM fanfic section, but the reviews and messages I've received have far exceeded any expectations I had. Thank you all so much. I really don't know how else to express my gratitude.**

**Enjoy! :)  
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_"Well, I got bones beneath my skin and, mister, there's a skeleton in every man's house. Beneath the dust, and love, and sweat that hangs on everybody, there's a dead man trying to get out."-Counting Crows "Perfect Blue Buildings"_

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In thick blackness, Jason Gideon struggled with the spare key a few times before finding the lock on Reid's apartment door. Swearing under his breath, he opened the wood slab with too much force, causing him to stumble inside. He regained his composure, stuck the key in his pocket, and shut the door behind him. Reid's clean, empty apartment with its stack of mail on the kitchen table looked even more dejected than Gideon felt. The hallway light flickered in protest and in the time it took to bathe the narrow space in a thin yellow, Jason Gideon's memory was reeling backwards.

_**Almost four months prior:**_

_"How you doing, Spencer?" The eyes that raised to meet Gideon's were not what he expected. They were flat, hollow orbs, but, somewhere, Gideon knew there was pain. A massive force would make its way to the forefront eventually. It always worked like that after traumatic events, and Gideon was no stranger to the clutches of aftermath._

_"Alright." Reid shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, as the sounds of the BAU filled the spaces between his unsaid words: the printer in the corner hunkered in protest, spewing paper onto the designated tray; phones rang and agents murmured last names and titles into receivers; and, above all that noise, Gideon heard the unmistakable sounds of the gurgling coffee pot. He wondered if Reid had been the one that made the black sludge. Looking at his mentee, Gideon saw the purple bags under his eyes, and, coupled with wrinkled clothes and his shifting eyes, Gideon understood that things in Reid's life were far from alright._

_"You know," Gideon began gently, wanting to make his message both validating and personal. "What happened to you in Georgia was difficult, and it would be understandable if you took some more time off. No one would think any less of you if you did."_

_"I know." Reid did not retaliate in the way Gideon had expected. He had assumed Reid would snap, declaring he could do his job. The kid was always eager to jump on ship with anything and everything, but Gideon had not suspected an appeasement. _

_"Spencer-"_

_"I had my time off and passed my psych eval, Gideon." There it was-the response Gideon had hoped for and counted on, but, now, he couldn't understand why Reid's eyes were burning in anger and looking anywhere but his own._

_"My guess is,"_

_"You have no idea what's going on with me, alright?" Reid was really mad now, shooting fire in his direction. Gideon opened his mouth to speak, but Spencer stopped him. "Don't even pretend to sympathize, Gideon." Reid's glare filled Gideon with something he could not discern. "You don't know everything about me or anyone else." If he wasn't a seasoned profiler trained to deal with the unexpected, Gideon figured he would have lines of shock and surprise outlining his facial features. Reid was usually anxious, excitable, and eager, but never was he so openly and defiantly angry. Spotting Hotch motioning to them from the catwalk leading to the conference room, Gideon realized they had a case. _

_"Hotch wants us," Reid told the older agent without any traces of his previous furry. Gideon nodded, pulling on Spencer's shirt sleeve when he tried to walk away._

_"If you need anything, Spencer," Gideon began. "You know where to reach me." Reid nodded, looked at the floor, and mumbled an inaudible reply. Watching his wide strides lead hurriedly to the conference room, Gideon exhaled deeply. Something told him this was just the beginning of a much larger problem._

Now, standing in Reid's bedroom with the black, leather bound notebook in hand, Gideon could not comprehend the anxiety pumping through his veins. He wanted to understand what he had missed or, more appropriately, what he should not have missed. If Hotch knew what Gideon was about to do, he'd preach about how he had no authority to violate Reid's trust by reading his personal property. Everyone on the team had a right to keep some things secret, but, Gideon figured, Hotch wasn't correct this time. In fact, he knew Hotch would never find out what he was doing, as he has personally driven him home just a few hours earlier.

There latest case had ended in a bloodbath, leaving a suspect, who was just as much as a victim as his own, dead on the pavement. It was one of those scenes that had made everyone collectively hold their breath and, when it was over, everyone understood it was also one of those cases that would linger for a while, haunting each member of the team in their sleep (or lack of). Maybe it was the case the planned the bar trip, but, when they finally landed in Virgina, Gideon and Garcia had been designated DD's while Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss drank themselves into oblivion.

Gideon didn't mind being the DD. Unlike his younger counterparts, alcohol left long lasting, next-day affects that made him feel dull and exhausted. However, Gideon had been expecting to drive one or two of his coworkers, but, for some reason he did not understand, he had been designated as keeper for a very intoxicated Hotch. Garcia handled JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss, whom, despite being depressed by the case a few hours prior, were now reveling in the bliss only alcohol could provide. Hotch, on the other hand, was as stoic as ever and the only sign that was inebriated was the slight sporadic nodding of his head accompanied by an incoherent mumble. Gideon would never admit this, but he was glad when the older man made it inside his darkened home. If he thought Hotch was intimidating sober, it was nothing in comparison to his inebriated stone-cold facade.

In the velvet blackness of Reid's apartment, Gideon realized he could not retreat to his home and his bed with its soft fleece blanket. He knew the minute he closed his eyes, he would see cherry red blood, pouring out of numerous holes in cream colored flesh. If the bastard had just dropped his gun, if he hadn't aimed it at Prentiss in a way that suggested he would kill her without hesitation, so many people wouldn't have fired. The suspect wanted to die by cop, and the team knew there was no other way-at one point, he'd make them kill him. _An eye for an eye, _Gideon thought bitterly as his mind drifted back to the their last case:

**Earlier that day:**

_"Logan, just put down the gun and we can help you," Prentiss's voice was calm and firm, but Gideon could tell by the way the sweat collected on her upper lip that she was nervous. Still, her composure was remarkably poised: her arms were extended straight outwards, both hands clasped around the trigger of her gun, as her dark eyes surveyed the unsub. Long White, their suspect, who, despite being a small, unassuming man-the kind you would pass on a crowded street without a second glance-was a killing machine. In one year, he murdered 14 women. _

_"There's no way you can help me," Logan sneered, his own hand just as sturdy as Emily's. If Gideon wasn't so sure he was their unsub, he figured in another life, Logan White could be a decent cop. No one but law enforcement could hold a gun that steady under pressure. Then again, unsubs never failed to surprise him._

_"How do you know that?" Prentiss questioned, inching closer. Logan laughed, but his cold blue eyes did not twinkle. Whatever joy escaped his lips did not extend to the rest of his extremities._

_"Because," he spat, surveying the dark-haired agent in front of him. From his stance to the right of Emily, Gideon felt his stomach heave. With her dark hair and eyes, which were accented by a flawless, pale complexion, Prentiss was exactly Logan's type. Gideon met Hotch's look, nodded, and the two men moved closer. A little ways away, Gideon saw Morgan do the same, surveying the scenario for his opening to do what he loved and did best: flatten suspects in a whirl of muscular furry._

_"Because? That's the best you've got?" Prentiss remarked sarcastically. 'Don't instigate him,' Gideon remembered thinking, attempting to send her the silent message._

_"You have no idea what it's like to be so intelligent that no one else understands you," Logan was shaking now, his emotions arising from a place Prentiss had kicked into action._

_"You're right," Prentiss agreed. "I don't know what that's like nor do I know what that's like to have an IQ of 190." Out of his peripheral vision, Gideon saw Morgan scoot an inch closer to Logan._

_"Let me tell you!" Logan was losing his cool now, waving his gun frantically. Around him, the swat team tensed at the sudden change in his demeanor. "You can never make it stop. The thoughts, they're always there. All I want is to make it fucking go away." Prentiss nodded like she understood and was soaking in every word._

_"I can help you with that," Emily tried to move closer, but Logan's gun stopped her, so she continued with her rational appeasement. "I can help you with those rampant thoughts."_

_"Bullshit! You can't help with anything. They're gonna lock me up! That way, I can be monitored forever!" Logan's arm was shaking, but Gideon saw his body begin to enter a state of sudden calm. If they didn't move in soon, this was going to get real ugly real fast._

_"But, if you put down the gun, you'll never know if the thoughts will stop." Prentiss countered. It was a long shot to go that route, but Gideon rationalized it may help. Logan was smart, albeit a Paranoid Schitzophrenic, but he was also desperate. He just wanted some semblance of peace._

_"Don't do that to me, Agent Prentiss." Logan said her name as if it was particularly bad tasting . "All I want to do is escape. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy because I know these things, but it's not like I can help it!" Logan was screaming now, crying, and piece of snot cascaded downwards from his nostrils onto the tops of his thin lips._

_"We know you can't help it," Prentiss's voice wavered. "You are who you are, but, if you put down the gun, I can help others understand you." Next to Gideon, Hotch mumbled something that very clearly sounded like "end this soon, damnit."_

_"Lies!" Logan bellowed so forcefully that even a few seasoned swat members jumped in surprise. "I just want to escape, you know?" His voice, which had been so loud a second before, now was barely audible. _

_"That's why you took those girls. That's why you hurt them." Logan nodded mechanically at Emily's words, watching her move closer. Soon, she would be so close she could touch him. On the rooftop to the left, Gideon saw the sniper ease his rifle. His instructions were to shoot if absolutely necessary, but Hotch had made it clear they wanted the suspect alive. With Emily so close to Logan, the sniper wouldn't risk shooting in fear of harming her as well.  
_

_"I didn't want to hurt them," Logan's emotions were controlling him now as he sucked in deep gulps of air to alleviate choking sobs._

_"I know you didn't." Emily was close, so close that Gideon sensed the moment was near. He couldn't believe it, but it looked like she was going to take Logan's gun away. "Just give me the gun...for them...you can make this right, and I can help you if you just give me the gun." Her voice was soft and gentle, almost like a mother coxing a her child after a disturbing nightmare._

_"I didn't want to hurt them..." Logan shook his head side to side, but Gideon knew something had changed. His body, which had previously been relaxed, became a series of taunt muscles. The tears stopped, although a few stray pieces of snot stuck to the bottom of his nostrils and the space between his nose and upper lip. This time, Gideon heard Hotch when he mumbled "Something's not right."_

_"But they gave me no choice." Frank told Prentiss. As if a light switch had been flicked, Logan's composure changed to steady once more. If he had just second prior been becoming unhinged, this new form was now the exact opposite. Sensing this radical shift, Emily tried to take a step back, but the barrel of a gun steadied and Logan's index finger curled around the thin trigger..._

_A chorus of "put down the gun!" echoed into the chilly, late fall air, but Logan's hand only steadied. Before Emily could comprehend that she could see inside the metal chamber, he was sprawled on asphalt as puddles of red blood seeped outwards from various exit wounds. Gideon registered that he had fired a shot, but he had no idea where it had entered Logan's flesh, if it had even done so at all._

_"Emily, come on, it's done." It was Morgan's strong, reassuring voice that brought Prentiss back to the present situation, as her off-kilter focus had been at the body of Logan White and not her surrounding teammates. Around the BAU agents, the swat team disassembled their positions. A few even glanced down at Logan White, shaking their heads in disbelief or disgust. 'So much for a non-violent capture,' Gideon had thought miserably._

_"Thanks guys," Emily turned towards her team, meeting their eyes. No one spoke, but the relieved looks she received were enough. And, when he put his own weapon away and watched Hotch pull Prentiss aside, Gideon felt the fear leave him, draining him of any type of energy he had left. It felt like he was getting too old for this constant battle between good and evil._

_"That could have been much worse." Morgan spoke quietly, and Gideon looked at the younger agent, who was not taking his eyes off of Emily and Hotch a few feet away._

_"We're luck it wasn't," Gideon emphasized. Morgan bit his lip and stared directly at Gideon with such piercing eyes that Gideon felt his blood stop running through his veins._

_"Am I the one person on the team who thinks that Reid could have handled that unsub?" Morgan's tone was angry, and Gideon did not know how to respond. Temperment aside, Morgan was right: Logan and Spencer both had high IQs. Both were considered genius, and both knew what happened when the brain turned on someone of that intelligence. Reid had extensive first-hand knowledge in dealing with Paranoid Schizophrenics that the others, simply, did not. Gideon shared Morgan's sentiments, but he hadn't voiced them, and certainly would not now that Prentiss stared into the barrel of a gun that, if fired a second earlier, could have ended her life._

_"Who knows, maybe he couldn't, Derek. That's not up to us to decide" Suddenly, as if Morgan realized how angry his voice sounded a moment before, he blinked, stared at the ground, and nodded, as if he and the gravel were sharing some secret._

_"You need to stop doing this to yourself." Gideon told the younger agent. "You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Reid. Tobias put the needle in him, but he did the rest." Gideon kept his voice stern, yet soft, watching as Morgan burned holes in the ground with his piercing stare. _

_"And you're not blaming yourself at all either, Gideon?" The question was debatable, and Gideon knew Morgan had touched a speck of truth, whether he'd admit it openly or not._

_"I may very well be," Gideon explained. "But it's not affecting my ability to do my job." And then, Gideon saw the dawning of understanding as Morgan exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand of his tired face._

_The two men did not exchange another word, but it seemed to Gideon that Morgan, for the first time, understood the guilt and anger he carried with him. When Morgan walked away, Gideon did not follow. He stood in a sea of people, as the bustle of officers occupied the empty spaces around him._

Gideon felt Reid's bed sink under his weight. With shaky hands, he opened the journal to see the familiar loops and patterns of Reid's handwriting staring back up at him. It didn't surprise him that this didn't feel intruding. Reid, _his _protegee, had a drug problem. Why hadn't he done something sooner?

"Sorry, Spencer." Gideon mumbled in the darkness that he had interrupted by turning on the overhead light. "You gave me no choice." Already, Gideon's fingers eagerly thumbed through pages, ignoring the fact that there very well may have been options other than his current actions.

Gideon did not know how long he read Reid's journal. It could have been minutes, hours, or days even, but judging from the sounds of the clanging garbage truck and twittering birds outside the apartment, Gideon figured it was now early morning. The journal dated before the Hankel case, and Gideon read those pages with just as much interest. The young man detailed cases, his coworkers, facts and statistics, and his own emotions. Although he fell victim to self-doubt and feelings of personal guilt and responsibility over situations outside his control, the Spencer Reid before the Hankel case had, to Gideon, loved his life and his job. And then, just days after the case, Gideon saw the shift, and with surprise, he read Reid's words out loud to the empty room.

_I feel like time is moving in slow motion. There are things I do: eat, sleep, shower, etc. but they mean nothing. I mean nothing. It's all just an indefinite loop that can end at a moment's notice. The moment someone puts a gun to your head and tells you to choose. I should have told Tobias to choose me, but that thought came too late. In retrospect, it wouldn't have been that hard. If I died, Hotch would have found a replacement. I'm sure there are other people with far superior abilities that would jump at the chance to have this job. The only person I'd worry about if I died is my mother, but someone from the team would make sure she's alright. They would understand._

_But why does it feel like I'm already dead?_

Gideon stopped reading, feeling the lump in his throat constrict his breathing. He struggled for air for a few moments, feeling the tears cascading down his weathered, lined face.

"Why didn't you say anything, Reid?" He asked. The next few entries were incoherent tangents and ramblings that Gideon suspected Reid wrote when he was high, but one near the last entry caught Gideon's attention once more.

_I did it again. I don't mean to be like this-to be like Tobias was-but I can't stop anymore. At first, it was just to sleep. The nightmares I have are horrific reenactments of that night in Georgia, but the pills and injections make it better. It is a blissful, oblivious sleep. In New Orleans, I told Gideon I wouldn't let this affect me or the job again, and I kept that promise. Outwardly. But I feel like I'm losing my ground. Tobias is everywhere. He's everyone. I can't get his memory to leave me, and I know it's wrong, but the narcotics help. I rarely use Dilaudid, but I got some last night. I won't say how or where, but it was as startling as I remember. The white edges of memory, sleep, and the knowledge that I was nowhere and exactly the place I wanted to be all at the same time. When I woke up this morning, it all felt wrong, but just the memory was enough._

_I think they all suspect something. Emily hasn't said anything to me since the case in Houston, but I can tell she wants to very badly. It's in the way she offers me food because I can tell that she thinks I've lost too much weight. Or in the way JJ eyes me with a look that subsequently outlines her own guilt. Garcia's come right out and asked, but she's nothing compared to Morgan, who I avoid because his looks are enough to make me break down. Hotch and Gideon probably have figured it out by now, or they will soon, but this facade can last a bit longer. It has to because I don't know where it starts and I begin. I think I've lost myself for good this time. Maybe I was never really whole to begin with...Maybe I was just waiting for something like this to come into my life. Maybe I've always wanted to escape, and this is the reason I need._

"God damnit, Reid!" Gideon, suddenly enraged, threw the book across the room, enjoying the smack its binding made against the wall opposite the bed. In the quiet of the morning, Gideon heard his jagged breathing escaped his half-parted lips. The tears constricted his vision, and SSA Jason Gideon sat for a few moments, regaining his composure and the very real feeling that he had failed himself and his protegee in ways he could not comprehend or explain.

And, when the dawn began to break over the horizon outside the window, Gideon stood with stiff joints and a heaviness that made him move with a deliberate slowness. He bent to the floor, took the journal in one hand, and left the room and apartment. He'd read more and figure out what to do. If anything good came out of this whole situation, Gideon would make it right. He would make things okay again. After all, many years prior, he took a vow to serve and protect. And that, Gideon told himself, was exactly what he was going to do.


	29. Chapter 29

**Because I felt as though I owed everyone for the fabulous reviews I received for chapter 27, I posted both chapter 28 and 29. Enjoy! :)**

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_"But in this search for nothing desperately, oh, I'm tryin' not to be a fool. I'm tryin, Lord, to keep my cool."-Jimi Hendrix "Stepping Stone"_

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Spencer Reid knew a thing or two about addiction and its physical pull. How the body, when tolerant, needed more and more of the same substance to acquire what, previously, had been a high produced by a small amount. And, when the body didn't receive whatever it was that it needed, it went into a series of waves, begging for a release and an escape. Reid knew the physical needs, but he found that he was ill-prepared for the mental roller coaster he seemed to be riding without a seat belt.

If Reid felt as though he was achieving a small sense of life and the world around him, he began to realize that the small bottle of drugs in his pocket could change everything. He hadn't even made it through half of his required rehab stint, but, as Reid showered with rapid force (he was afraid there was going to be a random room check) he wondered what would happen if he had a setback? What if he stole a syringe from the nurse's station? It was just like all those magic tricks he practiced- a flip of the wrist, a quick glance around, and then he would be free. He'd be able to feel lost again. He'd be able to escape the relentless nightmares, the powerful anxiety attacks, or the floods of loneliness. Anticipating this release, Reid knew that the nurses switched shifts around three and although he had to be in group then, if he faked sick, he could possible get away with it...

But, as Reid shoved jeans and a long sleeved shirt over his still-damp body, there was this to consider: Drugs had almost destroyed him before. He was not here, in rehab, because he was happy or complete or because he didn't have a problem. _But, _his brain began playing devil's advocate. _You didn't really hit rock bottom yet. Morgan found out, but that wasn't your doing. _Reid figured, he was right-there had been no sickening crash; instead, it was an ease of the breaks. He hadn't lost his job, his home, or all his friends. In fact, he realized, Morgan probably followed him into the bar that night because he had seen the subtle cues in his behavior, he was worried, or Hotch told him too. _I wasn't that bad, _Reid rationalized. _If I wasn't drunk, I probably could have gotten away with everything. _Reid felt a surge of anger: Morgan had tricked him. He didn't really need to be here after all. What had happened that night in the hotel bathroom, had been, clearly, an release of pent-up emotions, but not an admission of addiction.

On the nightstand by his bed, Reid felt the accusing eyes of all his teammates. He picked up the picture, wondering what they would think if he was caught in a rehab facility with a vial of Dilaudid. _You'd lose your job. _He rationalized. _You'd lose your respect. _Those prospects still didn't seem bad enough, and Reid almost took the bottle right then and there and drank the potent liquid, but, then, as if out of some type of haze, Reid heard Morgan's voice: _It's normal to be scared. _

"Is that what I am?" Reid asked the picture. He stood for a moment, drugs in pocket, hand on wooden frame, and then he put the picture down on the nightstand so the back was facing upwards and the memory was not clear.

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"I want to drink right now." It was afternoon group and Reid, still wearing the remnants of dark soil, was trying his best to listen to Tony, who apart from his crying and shaking, was being brutally honest. A twinge of jealousy sparked in Reid. Why could Tony talk so openly when he could not? Why did his voice hitch in his throat every time he empathized with the other group members? Why did it feel like the more he tried to discuss his own problems and addiction, an apparition of Tobias appeared, threatening Reid's sanity with his faded presence. To calm himself, Reid placed his hand in his pocket to feel the cool glass. When Madeline met his eyes, he turned his attention back to Tony.

"Some days," Tony sniffed. "It's hard to get out of bed. It takes too much energy." Reid knew what that felt like. In the mornings, there was a drooping heaviness in each one of his limbs. His eyelids did not want to open completely, and he wondered if it would be worth it to, just once, give in to pillows and sheets. He always got up, though, but with the security of the vial, Reid was beginning to wonder, even in a few short hours since receiving them, if he needed to be here at all.

"How does the group feel about this? Can anyone relate?" The monitor asked. The sounds of the group's discussion floated somewhere between the ceiling and Reid's head. He was so preoccupied that he did not hear his name being called.

"Dr. Reid?" Reid glanced at the monitor and her puffy cheeks that were accented by a set of warm brown eyes. He realized that aside from Melinda and the rehab staff, it was rare anyone called him Dr. Reid here. "How do you feel about what Melinda just said?" Reid felt sweat immediately gather at his hairline. He shifted in his seat, but could not help but feel so on-edge.

"I ummm..." he glanced around the group, which had most of their eyes on him."I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention." Someone laughed nervously, and the monitor gave Spencer a hard, concerned look before speaking.

"She said she understood how it felt to want something. To crave it so to speak." Reid glanced at Melinda and he could have sworn she was smiling in evil triumph. Taking a deep breath to control his sudden surge of anger, Reid spoke before he thought.

"I think," he began. "That Melinda should tell the group what she's addicted to because a lot of people don't know or understand why she's even here." In the crushing, awed silence that followed, Reid could have sworn he heard someone mumble a quiet "Amen." If some in the group previously ignored looking at him, they had discarded that notion the minute the words left his lips. Melinda turned a pale white, and Reid now felt like the triumphant one. He had unnerved her somehow. _Now you know how it feels, bitch. _He thought, unsure of where this rage was originating from.

"I think," the monitor spoke very precisely, "That everyone who's here is here for a reason. You should focus on yourself and not on others." And, as if a spark had been lit, Reid ignited.

"Well, if that's the case," he stood up, knocking the chair to the ground and breathing heavily, "Then I don't think I need to be here." There was a gasp from a few people, although Reid couldn't blame them. He had been quiet, respectful, and mostly removed from the group. It was rare that he divulged anything other than a statement or small emotion. Now, he was, quite painfully, losing his nerve in front of everyone.

"I think you should sit back down and we can help you through this." The monitor used a gentle voice that Reid understood was meant to soothe him and the anxiety he knew he was inflicting on others.

"There is no we," he scoffed. "If I'm only supposed to work on myself, then this group," Reid gestured outwards, ignoring Tony's wide eyes and Mike's hardened stare. "Isn't really worth it, is it?"

Everyone ignored his piercing stare, but Melinda was watching him with an intensity Reid's anger matched. Reid wasn't sure he existed and, when Melinda briefly morphed into Tobias, Reid felt the panic flood his body in cold waves. He looked towards the rest of the group, and their murmurs grew to a loud swarm, penetrating his racing thoughts.

The monitor began to say something to calm the group or to stop his rage and accompanying panic, but Reid did not stay to hear her soothing suggestions. Instead, wanting to keep his anger real before Tobias stole that too, so he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. In his fury, he did not know where to go, but he let his feet carry him down deserted corridors and onto the cold grounds. He didn't stop until he was surrounded by the wooded covering of one of his running paths. His sides hurt, his chest ached for air, and when Reid slouched against a large tree, he felt the wind caress his damp cheeks.

"What's happening to me?" He asked the world, although he knew there would be no answer. Reaching into his pocket, Reid grabbed the bottle and brought it out towards the light. He studied it for a minute, feeling his racing heart begin to return to a normal rhythm. What was it that he had read once? How many addicts returned to using, even after treatment? He thought it was more than half, but his brain stubbornly refused to retrieve the fact that, at one time, came so easily.

"How did she get you?" He asked the vial. _The river, _he realized. _The bottle was in the river, but who put it there? _Reid could not understand why that thought seemed so crazy yet so lucid. He wasn't sure how long he sat, shivering in his thin shirt and jeans, or when the day began to fade, but when he rose with stiff joints, he knew there would be a punishment for his previous actions. For a moment, Reid considered hurtling the bottle into the woods, but it was getting late and, chances were, he would not be able to search too long before the darkness came rushing in.


	30. Chapter 30

**Hi everyone. I was going to post this chapter on Sunday, but, given the amazing, wonderful, funny, and insightful reviews and PM's I've received, I decided to post this next chapter now as a thank you. I don't really have the words to describe how grateful I am for such amazing replies and readers, but I hope that this early posting can, at least, make it partially clear.**

**The below paraphrasing from the episode 'Revelations' is a synopsis from my memory. For some reason, I couldn't find direct quotes of that conversation anywhere online. If it's inaccurate, please know, I tried my best. Hopefully, I remembered correctly enough.**

**Enjoy, and thank you all for making my weeks brighter. :)  
**

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_"I am taffy-stuck and tongue-tied_, _shutter-shook and uptight. Pull me out from inside."-Counting Crows "Colorblind"_

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The screams echoing in the dark bedroom reverberated back to Emily Prentiss at deafening decibel. In the moments it took Emily to register that it was her own voice resounding off the walls, lengthy shadows, half-blocked by closed curtains, filtered in from the outside world. Across the room, the dresser remained in order: the intricately carved jewelry box from Italy, a few bottles of perfume, and a container of oatmeal-scented lotion. Framed photos of the BAU team stood in their places on the shelves opposite the walls, and Emily marveled at how nothing seemed to be changed, yet nothing was the same. Sticking her feet into the slippers by her bedside, Prentiss stood on shaky legs, feeling cool sweat form a liner between her tank top, mesh shorts, and sticky, clammy skin.

In the bathroom, she winced at the intruding fluorescent white light, splashing cool water on her flaming skin and letting it drip down her cheeks, collecting on the sink counter. When Emily finally glanced at her reflection, she was surprised to see dark, fearful eyes, a sweat-laced hairline, and cheeks accented with pillowcase creases. If her coworkers thought she was the queen of composure, they'd be more than startled to see her crumbled facade now. Throwing on a terry-cloth bathrobe, Prentiss let out a frustrated sigh.

Sleep was a futile joke that both came and went in bouts of exhaustion and physical necessity. Nightmares lined the edges of her dreams, throwing Prentiss into scenes of sheer terror. Tonight, Emily's dreams had been a reminder of what could have been so much worse: the oblong grooved metal chamber of Logan's gun, the yelling of those around her, and the pooling of crimson red onto the ground. She had observed her own funeral, peering down from above, like a passive spectator in bleacher seats at a baseball stadium. She was too far to know her screams were being heard, but too close not to try anyway. Now, padding down her the hallway of her apartment, Emily Prentiss understood sleep would not be in her near future.

The overhead lights in the kitchen were less intrusive than the ones in her bathroom, and Prentiss took a few moments to fill a tea kettle with water, placing it on the back left burner. Her hands made their way to the familiar tea box next to her coffee pot, grabbing the last of the chamomile bags. When the wooden kitchen chair felt too abrasive to her achy joints, Emily shifted to the living room a few feet away, sinking gratefully into the soft love-seat Garcia had helped her choose from the local mall. Her apartment was small, but cozy, and Emily wished she had more time to spend among its wood flooring, black and white photographs of friends, family, and natural depictions of countries she had once called home. The TV was a modestly sized flat screen (at Morgan's insisting) and the few movies Emily owned were alphabetized on the shelving underneath the TV unit, directly next to rows of CDs and an outdated CD player. The wall unit and window seat were what caused Emily to fall in love with her home, and she had taken great care to place dog-eared books, more framed pictures, and an occasional trinket on the shelves. The walls were a light blue that reminded Prentiss of a summer sky, and when she couldn't sleep, which was often, the small room offered a refuge of some sorts.

It had been weeks since the "Logan incident" and, although Emily knew he was now six-feet under somewhere, she still feared his presence. It seemed like he was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, pressing into her conscious and unconscious moments with an intensity that she had not foreseen. Agent Prentiss knew the situation could have been much worse than her quick glimpse into the barrel of a gun, but the scene seemed to be burned into her memory, filtering through when her defenses were down. She hadn't told anyone of the team about the nightmares or intrusive flashes because it sounded petty, even to her. Prentiss did not want to invalidate real suffering, and she didn't want anyone to think she was weak. She could more than handle her own problems, even if that meant sitting in the darkened living room, staring at the dim gray dawn outside the windows, waiting for the screech of the tea kettle to break through the stillness.

_You could have died, _her inner voice reminded. Prentiss tried her best to shut her brain off, but the thoughts kept snowballing: _What if that happens one day? What if the next case is your last? What if you can't take all of this chaos anymore? What if you keep compartmentalizing until you forget how to feel? _

Emily's chest heaved with anxiety and she bolted from the couch, anticipating what would happen if she sat and thought too long. It wasn't that she _didn't _feel. It was more like she knew how to block those overwhelming sensations, allowing them to break through when she was alone. This made her a good profiler, a reliable teammate, and a confused adult, wanting to let her guard down occasionally, even though years of practice had made calloused coverings that not even Emily could tear down. The tea kettle brought Prentiss back to her present situation, and she headed to the kitchen, eager for the soothing relief the leaves and a splash of milk would provide.

Cupping her hands around the steaming, oversized mug, Prentiss settled into the window seat, feet curled into a hand-woven afghan. Outside the glass, the world began to emerge into weak light. Soon, snow would fall, layering the world in a blanket of white, but, for now, Prentiss watched barren branches sway slightly against a bitter wind. Then, the memories that she had kept at bay for so long came rushing forward.

_"Emily?" She was almost out of the doorway when JJ called her name. Turning back, Emily faced the blond-haired agent._

_"How come none of this gets to you? You came off a desk job." The words stung, but Emily understood that her coworkers couldn't see the fear in her eyes or the nightmares that woke her each night._

_"You're right." Hotch's deadpan tone was behind her, appearing in the very entryway she no longer couldn't escape from. "You've haven't blinked."_

_"I guess I compartmentalize better than most people." She offered because she was unable to verbalize that she is a human being with deeply felt emotions. _

And when the scene left her, Emily couldn't help but think of Reid. It's been weird (and stressful) working without him. In each briefing, she expects the onslaught of statistics, but is not surprised when his voice does not resonate off the walls of the conference room. On the plane, she looked towards the packed chess set as feelings of personal responsibility constrict her breathing. With each pinprick on a map, Prentiss wonders if her victimology is correct-her geographical too broad. She knows not to show doubt, like her mother taught, but someday it's all too much.

Her tea was half-done and lukewarm. Emily remembered how everyone on team seemingly left Reid alone after Hankel. She tried, God, she did, but Reid fought back with uncharacteristically harsh words. It had been a relief when Gideon expressed concern too, but why did it still feel like she failed? In the dim light, Emily comprehended the familiar sympathy welling in her chest, and she wondered if he was alright, safe, and if recovering. Before she could stop it, another memory drifted back:

_**About two months prior:**_

_It was late, and Emily knew the dinner would be sparsely populated. The regular late-night waitress greeted her with a set of slightly crooked teeth, and Emily nodded, mumbling a hello. What she should have been doing at that point was sleeping, but Prentiss also knew that sleep was not on her agenda tonight. Not after the things she had seen. _

_Scanning the room's polyester red booths and plastic tables decorated with fake flowers, ketchup and mustard bottles, and assorted fruit jellies, Prentiss saw the familiar silhouette: He was hunched in a corner booth furthest from the bell-decorated door and diner counter with its spinning stool seats. His elongated fingers were wrapped around what Emily presumed to be a cup of coffee. His clothes were wrinkled, baggy in awkward places, and as she headed over under the bright overhead lights, Emily saw the messenger bag on the seat next to him. _

"_Hi." Emily remembered how weird it felt standing there. It was as awkward as high school, asking the most popular, gorgeous boy out to the prom. Reid looked up with eyes that revealed only sadness. It occurred to Emily that for all of his irritable outbursts, particularly the ones aimed at her, Spencer Reid was begging for help._

"_Can I sit down?" Reid nodded, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. Emily smiled at the plethora of empty sugar packets lining the table top. _

"_I didn't know you came here." His voice was dry and cracked, as if he had not spoken in days._

"_I do a lot, actually." She admitted, fiddling with a discarded sugar packet. "If I can't sleep after a case or if I want really good pie, this is the place I go to." She smiled at him, but Emily saw how Reid nodded to himself. Emily took his silence as a chance to observe the younger agent: deep, dark circles outlined the his bottom eyelids, radiating outward against his pale complexion. Reid's skin clung tightly to his bones, making him appear more fragile than Emily had ever seen him look before. His lips were dry, cracked, and Prentiss could not place if his shaking hands were a result of the cold air, anxiety, too much coffee, or something else-something Emily understood, but did not want to speak about openly._

"_Are you alright, Reid?" There, she'd asked it-the question she knew he didn't want to hear. She waited for the retaliation that would come in the form of a snappy comment, but was not surprised when Reid answered in a voice that told her all his fortresses had retired and he was completely exposed._

"_No," he shook his head. "I don't think I am." Prentiss remembered that the eyes that met hers were blank of expression and full of pain all at the same time. It had startled her, deeply moved something within her, and it took a few moments for Emily to regain her composure. Across the room, a cook left the kitchen, walked to the ancient juke box, shoved a few coins in the designated slot, and returned to his job once a classic rock song began resounding off the pepto pink walls._

"_Do you want to talk about it?" Reid shrugged, hands trembling as he lifted his coffee mug to his mouth._

"_You can profile." He suggested once he had taken a large gulp. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong." She blinked._

"_I'm not going to profile you, Reid. You know the rules. We don't profile each other." He sighed, leaning his head against the booth's backing. Emily listened to guitar riffs while she figured how to continue the conversation._

_"But, I can listen to you." His eyes met hers and she kept speaking, hoping Reid would respond. "I'm better at that than I am at profiling." Reid opened his mouth and hesitated, shifting uncomfortably against the polyester. On the table, his long fingers shook around the coffee mug. Emily clasped her hands together to avoid reaching across the table for his._

"_Have you ever..." he trailed off, glancing at the light mist falling outside the window."Have you ever wanted to escape?" He looked at her eagerly, silently begging for an answer she didn't know she possessed._

"_I think everyone wants to escape once and a while. I think that's normal." Reid nodded, turning his attention back to the table top covered with stray sugar crystals._

"_Have you ever wanted to escape and never come back?" It was the look-not the question-that signaled the warning bells. His eyes were flat, dilated, dull hazel circles. _

"_Reid, is this about missing the plane a while ago?" He shrugged again._

_"You've never wanted to just..." His eyes fell on the window once more. "You know, just disappear?" Prentiss bit her lip. She had, at one point in her life or another, wanted to drop off the face of the earth, but she didn't like the way Reid was phrasing the question. Something was seriously becoming unearthed, and, when she saw his dilated pupils, Emily felt the surge of recognition shoot through her body: Reid was under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol, and he was not mentally fit._

_"I have," Emily figured it was best to appease him-to give him the answer she knew he wanted. Reid nodded, staring at the table top. At that moment, Emily remembered she couldn't stand it anymore-his thin, shaking frame that was heightened by the lost, bewildered, and pained look in his eyes. Without thinking, she reached her hand out across the plastic covering, grabbing his icy fingers in her own warm ones._

_"Reid, look at me." She said in a voice she usually only reserved for establishing order in chaotic situations. It was a tone that was stern, but loving, and it got his attention: The eyes traveled slowly upward, looking as if they were expecting to be punished. Emily was shocked to see the fear etched around them. She inhaled before she spoke; not wanting to say what she knew she had to ask._

_"Are you going to do something..." She trailed off because even Agent Prentiss could not fathom how the following words were going to leave her lips. What was going on? Reid just waited for her to continue, giving her an empty stare that set goose bumps up her spine. _

_"Are you going to do something I should know about?" No look of recognition flashed in his eyes, and Emily knew she'd have to elaborate. "I don't want to say this, but are you going to intentionally hurt yourself?" Then, the moment she knew was coming but was surprised at all the same: the spark, the tilt of a head, and the recoiling against her touch of comfort._

_"I'm not that fucked up, Emily." His voice was low, mumbled, and angry. So angry, that Prentiss did not have the time to hide the surprise that she knew was lining her expression._

_"Why don't you stay with me tonight?" She offered spontaneously. "I have a really small, but comfortable pull-out sofa." _

_"I don't need to be looked after. I can take care of myself." _

_"I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying you look like you could use some company." Reid looked away. "Maybe a friend?"_

_"I'm fine." The tone was flat, but Emily knew he was furious and trying to contain it._

_"Reid," Emily debated how to proceed as gently and tactfully as possible. "You look like hell. When was the last time you slept?"_

_"How is that any of your business?" The hostility alone made her want to reach into her pocket for her cell phone and call Hotch right then and there. If Reid wasn't, well, Reid, Prentiss figured she would have grabbed for her gun, pointing it at him, demanding he stay until this whole situation was worked out._

_"Whatever's going on with you, you can let me, let us, help, you know?" She tried, God, she did, but the young agent retaliated with an all too familiar response._

"_That's the thing," Reid was suddenly composed, draining the last of his coffee. "I don't think you guys can."_

"_How do you know?" Emily challenged. "You bite the head off of anyone who tries." She didn't say it, but Emily thought 'especially me.' Reid shuffled for some money in his pants pocket, placed crumpled bills on the on the table, and before Emily understood what was happening, he was standing at its end._

"_I don't need anyone's help." His voice sounded so broken and lost, but when Emily met his gaze, it was hardened once more. _

_"I think you're a horrible liar." Her tone was flat, but soft. Spencer stared at her, blinking to release the connection._

"_Reid-" She began before he interrupted._

"_Please, Emily." He was practically begging, and Prentiss bit her bottom lip to contain her own oscillating emotions. "Just let me go."_

_He was already out the front door before Emily really had to time register what happened and what he meant._

That very night, she went to a surprised Hotch with her concerns. Emily didn't explain what had transpired between her and Reid, but her instincts screamed that something was not right. In her apartment, a little voice inside her whispered a thought she'd never say out loud: _That could be you too. Another case, another time, maybe tomorrow, you could become an addict too. _In truth, Emily realized, it could be any one of them. The team was constantly on the brink, running around after murders, serial killers, rapists, and anyone else who fit the profile. Each case could be her-their-last. It was a thought she didn't entertain often, but, when Emily did, she wondered how she could still be intact. Emily knew there were good, brief flickers of light etched somewhere among all the darkness, yet it felt like she had seen too much. She lived in many places, had worn many more masks, and, now, Prentiss realized she felt exactly where she needed to be: lost and found all at the same time. Emily couldn't help it when she understood how Reid wanted to escape. She felt this need too-more than she'd ever admit to anyone, herself included.

Agent Emily Prentiss watched the day unfurl with gray skies and weak light. The tears felt like summer rain against her cheek, and she leaned her head against the window pane's cool class, aching for a relief that seemed to elude her at every moment. _If only escaping were enough, _she told herself. _If only it fixed things._

"You're still here." She said this mantra repeatedly to reassure herself because she felt empty, hollow, and her voice sounded cracked and dry in empty the apartment. The sky lightened, opened a world that would be dark in twelve more hours, and Prentiss waited for relief that , quite possible, would never come. But waiting was enough. It was the only thing she knew how to do.


	31. Chapter 31

**I think I may be blessed with the best fanfiction reviewers. You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for all your wonderful, insightful, funny, and genuine comments. Honestly, every time I think I've received the best one yet, another one is in my inbox. Words cannot express how much I appreciate all these reviews, alerts, followers, etc. Thank you just doesn't seem like an adequate reply anymore.**

**As usual, the below is only edited by me, so all mistakes are mine. Also, there's a small quote from episode 2.17, "Distress."**

**Enjoy :)**

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"_Just a little thing buried inside other things, burning away from inside."-Jimmy Eat World 'Littlething"_

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"Tell me what happened in yesterday's group." Dr. B faced the young agent who had transformed into someone he did not recognize overnight. He was sullen, avoided eye contact, and any traces of the person who had begun to speak more openly had disappeared. Dr. B knew that all patients faced setbacks, but he could not fathom what change had been so swift that Spencer Reid now appeared to be in a worse mental state than he was when he first arrived.

"Nothing happened." Reid lied. "Just a bad day." Dr. B's eyes narrowed.

"And your outburst in group? How do you explain that?"

"I got mad," Reid shrugged, pretending to ignore the anger working its way to the forefront once more.

"Do you get mad like that often?" Dr. B queried. As if on cue, the monster inside Reid spoke for him.

"Am I not allowed to?" Reid howled. "What the fuck is wrong with me being mad?" The only sounds that filled the small office were of Reid's labored breathing. If the doctor was surprised by his sudden temper, he didn't show it.

"No," Dr. B began, "Anger is healthy, but I'm worried that yours seems so sudden. There was no gradual assent here, Dr. Reid." Spencer sighed, releasing the fury as soon as it had arrived.

"I think I've been mad for a while now." He admitted, shoulders hunched forward. Dr. B felt that the conversation was beginning to push forwards into an uncharted area that neither he, nor Spencer, had explored before.

"That's understandable. Actually, it's very human." He gave the young man a smile that was not returned. Reid exhaled slowly, attempting to control the rage that was so easily generated. He wasn't sure why or how, but it bubbled deep within him, escaping with such force that it left him feeling exposed and ashamed.

"Explain to me what it's like when you're angry" The Doctor pried.

"It's like," Reid began. "I have no control over my body or my words or what I choose to express." Reid saw another scene just then: He was standing in the cemetery while yelling at Hotch about how he could do his job before charging up the hill past Morgan and a series of crumbling graves.

"So this emotion is really powerful then?" Dr. B asked. Reid nodded.

"It takes over." He agreed. The doctor studied him for a minute before speaking. Sensing this slight observation, Reid squirmed in his chair, shifting his weight.

"Was this a problem before your addiction?" After what felt like an eternity, Dr. B spoke, his voice still masked of his intention. For as good of a profiler as he was, Reid sometimes could not decipher the doctor's true intent. He figured, in another life or world, Dr. B would have been a formidable member of the BAU.

"I had times where I was mad, you know? But it was never like this…" He stared past Dr. B at the gray sky through the widow.

"That's understandable, but taking into consideration what you've said about being angry before, do you feel as though that maybe you've controlled this anger?" Reid 's eyebrows furrowed into a thin point.

"I have to because of my job." Dr. B nodded his head, eyes focused on the ground before flicking them back towards the young man sitting across from him.

"True, but you've said in previous sessions that some of your colleagues, like Agent Morgan, express anger frequently." Reid sighed in frustration, shoving his too long hair behind his ear. It didn't stay there for long, preferring to lock together in a series of twisted knots that curled at his jawline.

"Yeah, but..." Reid struggled to find the right words to detail Morgan's rage. How could he? It seemed just as much a part of Morgan's character as his intelligence or Garcia's bubbliness . "It's different with him. It's who he is..."

"Your anger isn't yours to express then?" The doctor asked. The sinking feeling in Reid's stomach told him that he previous statement was probably not the best of things to say.

"I dunno...I mean..." He growled in frustration. When Reid went to speak, the doctor put his hands out, palms facing Reid, as a symbol for him to stop.

"Let me try and rephrase that because I think you and I are on two different levels of understanding." Reid nodded, swallowing deeply to alleviate the burning in the back of his throat.

"What I mean," Dr. B elaborated. "Do you think you never realized how truly upset you were to begin with?" Intelligence and IQ aside, Reid had not thought of this very obvious statement before, and it was his own voice he heard yelling at Prentiss after she had expressed concern over his erratic behavior_:"Oh, really? Oh, in the months that you've known me you've never seen me act this way? Hey, no offense, Emily, but you don't really know what you're talking about, do ya?" _In the quiet that followed, Dr. B watched as the young agent pondered this thought, contorting his delicate features into twisted lines of wrinkled skin.

"Spencer? What are you thinking about right now?"

"I," Reid licked his dry lips before continuing. "I was thinking that these feelings I express or don't express, particularly anger, have been around for a long time. I know I've hurt some people I care about…"

"Your teammates?" Dr B questioned, although, to Reid, it sounded more like a statement acknowledging the unspoken. He nodded yes.

"Do you think you've hurt yourself too? That this rage, however provoked and/or misplaced, has prevented you from seeking help?"

"I think you know the answer to that," Reid said, catching the doctor's eyes. Dr. B smiled in a sad way, knowing the young man in front of him could read others in the same ways he could.

"What do you think you're angry about?" Reid squirmed in his seat. In his pocket, the bottle taunted him for a relief, but he resisted the urge to reach for a quick touch of cool class. If anything, he'd rather talk about his emotions than explain to the doctor how he had obtained a bottle of Dilaudid.

"A lot of things." He saw the Doctor nod in encouragement. "My dad left when I was a kid."

"That must have been hard." Dr. B stated. Reid shook his head, watching the carpet blur together.

"Actually, dealing with my mother was worse sometimes."

"Why's that?"

"I had no one to talk to when she was..." Reid trailed off, cheeks burning.

"Experiencing an episode?" Thankfully, Dr. B finished Reid's sentence. He nodded, inhaling dry air to calm his oscillating emotions.

"Besides your family, what else provokes this anger?" Later that night, Reid realized he could have substituted his current wording with a number of things: unsubs who destroyed many lives, unsubs who preyed on children, the fact that his job made it impossible to see the good without the bad, and the fact that he had let one case and one unsub (theoretically speaking), affect him to the point where his life was now a blurred tightrope he balanced on, teetering from side to side every time the wind blew. If he was feeling particularly brave, Reid would have said he was really angry at Melinda and her fucking warped sense of fun. He would have thrown the vial at Dr. B, daring the psychiatrist to expel him. Spencer would have said that while the temptation was taunting him with each breath and blink, he had not escaped yet, although his body was practically convulsing with want.

Instead, he spoke before his brain had a moment to comprehend the situation at hand.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly normal." The tears escaped, and his body felt heavy. Reid willed the anger to come again so he could feel anything but dejected.

"Normal is just a word, a term people use, but what do you think normal really is?"

"I think normal is not an IQ of 187," Reid answered almost immediately. He wanted to stop himself, but the words were tripping over one another on their way out. "I think normal is having a mother who doesn't think the government is bugging your house. Normal is being able to ask a beautiful woman for her number. Normalcy," Reid was speaking so fast that the doctor had to strain to hear.

"Normalcy," he repeated. "Is being able to go to sleep at night without having nightmares about some crackpot with multiple personalities telling you you're a sinner, or that you have to pay for sending your mother to a mental institution when you turned 18 because she gave you no other choice." Reid was positively sobbing now and he couldn't stop any of it. Nothing could be contained.

"And normal, fucking normal, is being able to stop him from injecting you with Dilaudid. If I were normal, I would have been stronger. I would have not liked the drugs and everything they made me remember, whether I wanted to or not. If normal was something I was used to or accomplished in, I wouldn't have been so obvious, Morgan would not have figured everything out, and I certainly wouldn't be here."

In the silence that followed, Reid chocked on his tears. Dr. B handed him a box of tissues, and Reid didn't hesitate to grab a bunch, blowing his nose so loudly that he was sure someone down the hallway heard.

"That was a lot that just came out," Dr. B spoke first and Reid found his gentle tone comforting. He wiped his eyes with a balled tissue.

"It's not so bad." He murmured. The Doctor was quiet for a moment, watching the sniffling young man.

"You're right," he agreed. Reid looked at him in confusion.

"I am?" Dr. B nodded.

"I think," he began. "A lot just came out, but it's a lot more to hold in."

"I don't think I've ever seen things from that perspective." Reid admitted. The doctor thought carefully before speaking once more.

"I'm not going to ask you now, Spencer, but soon, very soon, you're going to have to tell me what happened in Georgia." The young man made no outward expression to showcase the terror surging through his bloodstream at the very suggestion of that impending, inevitable task.

"You know that, right?" Dr. B's voice was very soft. Outside the window directly behind the psychiatrist, Reid saw light, fluffy snowflakes making their zigzagged way to the earth. And when Reid signaled yes with a nod of his head, he knew that something massive had shifted inside him. He didn't feel any better about rehab, and his place in it, but he knew there were things he would have to let go.


	32. Chapter 32

**Hi everyone. I really can't thank everyone enough for the wonderful responses I've received. You guys are beyond amazing. I hope this next chapter lives up to everyone's expectations...**

**This next chapter details some things that, for some readers, may be triggering, upsetting, etc. I don't want to give away what these things are, but please know that this chapter (and some upcoming ones) detail some darker aspects of life, drug addiction, post traumatic stress, etc. If you're at all bothered by any of these things, you've been warned...**

**Enjoy!  
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"_We spent the night on razor's edge all innocence and sin. Now, I'm strung out on the bowery as the winter closes in."-Ron Pope "Seven English Girls"_

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"Where did you get this?" Reid asked, holding a folded piece of notebook paper between his thumb and second finger. From his bed by the window, Spencer's roommate ,Jim, didn't look up from his book (one that Reid had brought with him) when he answered.

"That creepy chick, Melinda." Reid nodded even though Jim was too busy reading to see. "She asked me to give it to you."

The day after his appointment with Dr. B, Reid had apologized to the group, which had been more than understanding. He had also pulled Tony aside later and apologized for not paying more attention to his disclosure. Tony, being Tony, had laughed and told him that if he had all that knowledge in his own brain, he wouldn't be very attentive to anything else either. Then, things had returned to normal. Mike did not treat him any differently when they farmed together, and, aside from his breakdown in Dr. B's office, Reid was beginning to feel as though he had a lot to work through and even more to understand. However, the vial of Dilaudid went everywhere with him, and Reid did not know, exactly, how to dispose of it. Each day, it became more and more difficult to ignore.

The bottle in Reid's pocket was a symbol of everything he had been through, but, somehow, it stood for so much more than that: It was all those nights awake in bed, wishing for his father to come home. It was for the endless days of school-inflicted torment, the teasing, and the pranks from the other children who were much older and much stronger than he was. It was for the confusion he felt in social situations, and the pressing weight of anxiety that, if he did or said one thing wrong, it would come back to haunt him. The bottles represented his mother's brilliant madness, encompassing her wild eyes, skewed hair, and soft voice as she read ancient poets to him in a darkened bedroom. The drugs were the cases and usubs that would not leave, chasing him into his dreams and shadowing his already stilted beliefs about people and the world. The vial was Tobias and, when he closed his eyes long enough, Spencer Reid could not understand where he fit in the midst of everything. This was his life, but it felt like he was simply a visitor.

_Meet me at the creek at 3 A.M. _Melinda's scrawled, loopy handwriting took him by surprise. _Is she nuts? _He asked himself, but, that night at 2:50 AM, when he heard the night nurse snoring in front of the television at the station down the hall, Reid slipped on the white linoleum hallway in his mismatched socks, shoes in hand, and exited out an emergency door that he knew was disarmed and unlocked.

Once outside, he shoved his sneakers onto cold feet and walked quickly to the meeting spot. He thought about ignoring her request, but Reid figured she'd somehow find him wherever he went. The night air was frigid and it stung at his nostrils, causing Reid to break into a slight jog in order to garner some warmth. Reid was not surprised when Melinda was waiting for him wearing nothing but her usual jeans and a long-sleeved thermal.

"Why hello, Dr. Reid." She explained in her flat tone. Reid couldn't help but long for the voice she used a week earlier when they discussed the Catcher in the Rye. He shoved his freezing hands into his pocket to avoid speaking.

"I knew you would know that the back exit door was unlocked." Reid had seen a janitor leave through that door a few days earlier, and, when the alarm hadn't sounded, Reid understood it was broken. How Melinda knew this and knew that he knew too, he wasn't sure. From the moment he first met her, Reid understood she, somehow, learned about her environment and the people in it with alarming accuracy.

"You also knew that the nurses always fall asleep on night shift." Her smile seemed like a praise, and Reid wondered what, exactly, Melinda's job had been. He figured, from the way she seemed to manipulate everyone and everything, she had been on assignment somewhere particularly dangerous.

"It's beautiful out here." Melinda turned her head upwards and Reid couldn't help but do the same. The stars were brilliant. With a pain, he was reminded of the parking lot and his conversation with Hotch. It seemed so far away now.

"So, Spence." Reid ignored the jolt of rage. No one, JJ aside, called him Spence. He could not place why this alone made him so angry. _She's getting to you, _he realized. He spoke before Melinda had the chance to proceed.

"What do you want?" He grumbled at her. This was the first time since his group outburst that he had a good chance to look at her. Her blond hair cascaded down her back. Although she was very thin and it was hovering around the 40 degree mark, Melinda was not shivering like he was. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes the same dead cover, and her thin lips were cracked.

"Nice to see you too," she joked. _She's enjoying this, _Reid realized.

"You're crazy, you know that right?" He asked her, unable to understand why he stepped closer to her. In the moonlight, her skin looked translucent.

"I am, actually." Melinda's eyes were bearing down on his and Reid couldn't look away. "The doctors here diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder. Apparently, I've had it for a while now." _Well, that explains a lot. _He figured. Normally, Reid realized, he'd spew out statistics the disorder, but he found that urge had left him about the same time he entered the rehab facility.

"Why so quiet? Are you afraid of me?" She asked, stepping closer to the young agent. Inside him, something shifted, but Reid was unable to place what it was exactly. He registered that the moonlight was sending him mixed signals. _This situation, _his brain warned. _Is not safe. _

"Why did he give me this?" He asked, extending his hand towards her. He had not remembered carrying the bottle with him, but it was now in his open palm. She studied it for a moment before picking it up between two fingers.

"Everyone needs a test, Dr. Reid." Effortlessly, she opened it, and, before Reid knew what was happening, she poured the contents to the ground.

"Why'd you do that?" His voice rose in disbelief. How _could _she? It took everything Reid had not to throw himself at the damp earth. Melinda smiled and moved closer. Reid noticed her hair smelled like apple pie.

"It's water. I wanted to see what you'd do. I filled it up the morning I saw you on your run." She reached her fingers towards his cheek, pressing her palm against his skin. It was warmer than Reid expected.

"You tricked me?" He whispered. Reid could see every individual eyelash.

"Congratulations," she tilted forward. "You passed." And when her lips met his, Reid felt the same paralyzing fear. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He responded in the only way he knew how-with hands to tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. From a distant past, he remembered the pool and Lila, but with each movement of Melinda's lips, Spencer Reid became a shadow of what he once was. The wind shot through them, and he shivered uncontrollably. In the moment it took from the coldness to seep through him, his hand slide under her the sleeves of her shirt. Where Reid had expected soft skin, he felt jagged, raised scars, some scabbed over and some long-since healed.

"What's this?" He stopped kissing her, his brain already working. Melinda's eyes suddenly turned into giant orbs he did not recognize. Before she could pull away, Reid grabbed her wrist, yanked her sleeve upwards, and was not surprised to see the even, vertical marks. They stood in the night for a moment, and the only sound was Melinda's breathing escaping in spurts.

"You're a cutter." Reid said softly, meeting her eyes. "That's your addiction." Melinda jerked to life, tugging away with more force than Reid expected. Everything seemed to be falling into place just then. He saw Melinda, bent over, something sharp in hand. He could see the blood, feel the cuts, but he could not center himself on the moment and the woman in front of him.

"Cutters typically use self injury to feel the emotions inside," he rattled off, but it felt as though his knowledge was simply a byproduct from a world he used to live in. "They do it as a release of feeling."

"That's an interesting take on it," Melinda drew her arms closer to her, and Reid realized she was uncomfortable. _You can push her, _his brain encouraged.

"So what was it then?" He challenged. Her eyes met his, but, unlike earlier, they revealed no emotion. "What made you start?"

"None of your fucking business." If her look didn't give away her anger, her words and tone of voice sure did.

"My guess," he felt the familiar surge of fury and it, accompanied by the lack of profiling in his life and the feeling of her lips still lingering on his, acted for Specer Reid when he spoke next. "Is you were in some environment, some foreign country, collecting information." She held his gaze with a burning one.

"And, when things went wrong," Reid couldn't stop himself when he smiled. Why other's suffering, even if it was Melinda's, made him somewhat lightheaded, Reid could not understand.

"They didn't take you out." From the deafening silence and Melinda's icy glare, Reid understood he had been correct. _Who are you? _He asked himself. _Why are you doing this to her? She's not a criminal. She's not Tobias._

"We're all here for a reason, Dr. Reid." She snapped. _You're getting to her now, _he realized.

"You were betrayed by the very people who were supposed to protect you." he realized as the anger began dissipating. Suddenly, Reid felt very sick to his stomach. What if Hotch or anyone else on the team had done that to him? Who was he to say he wouldn't end up just as jaded as she was? He knew he was treading in dangerous water, but he couldn't stop himself from continuing his profiling.

"And cutting, hurting yourself, is the only way to deal. I bet you feel like your superiors sent you here out of guilt...to make up for leaving you in the very situation that made you start cutting to begin with."

"Don't tell me you don't feel the same?" She countered, trying to change the conversation. In the moment it took him to think of a response, Spencer could not help himself when he acknowledged that a small part of him did feel that way about his team.

"Yes and no," he admitted. "But I also know they support me. They want me to get better for my sake and not just to clear their own feelings of guilt. Can you say that about your coworkers?"

"Fuck off," Melinda spat. Reid couldn't stop. He was way too far in to end this now.

" You're very aware you can't do your job anymore. Your team is too, but the job is all you have. It's all you really know and, without it, you're just lost. You're a nobody." To his surprise, Melinda grinned. Reid wondered if she knew just how applicable his last statement was to his own life as well.

"Good job. Would you like some kind of prize now?" She commented sarcastically. "Maybe another doctorate?" Reid could feel the shame creeping to his cheeks. Even with unsubs, he always tried to keep a sense of humility. People were people after all, but from the way his cheeks burned in the cold air, he knew he had to fight back. After all, she had tricked him.

"You filled a vial with water and gave it to me! I thought it was the drug I'm addicted to! And you..." He yelled. "You let me!" The wind spun around them, carrying his words into the night. Reid saw the outline of breath hang in the air before evaporating into water droplets.

"Do you even understand how completely fucked up that is?" His breath hitched in his throat and Spencer struggled to unclench his hands from balled fists. In a way, he figured he now knew what Morgan felt like every time he punched some wall or other inanimate object.

"You know," Melinda began ignored his outburst, surveying him with sheets of blue ice, "You're not the only one who can profile." Reid figured he deserved what was coming next.

"You're insecure," she whispered, leaning close to him once again. "But you're lucky enough to have a support system. People, probably your team, cares about you." She said in a bitter tone that told Reid she was jealous. Reid tried to match her hard gaze.

"I think both of those things are fairly obvious to assume. I've said them to you before." Melinda smirked, and the terror unfurled somewhere deep within Reid's stomach. What had he gotten into? She was, after all, a CIA agent.

"You fear abandonment," Melinda saw the spark flash in the young man's eyes. "My guess is, daddy issues." This time, she didn't need to look into his eyes because the pain was etched on his face. In the moonlight, it distorted into both surprise and anger. _I never told her about my father, _Reid thought. _How did she know that?_

"You're easy to read there, Spence." Melinda answered his unspoken thoughts. "You're a worrier. You worry about your team, the victims, yourself, but, deep down, your wonder if anyone truly cares and worries about you." Reid clenched his fingers into fists at his side once more. What the fuck was going on?

"My guess is," she mocked his previous wording, "that the drug abuse was about that just as much as it was about escaping. You wanted to see who cared." The sickness in his stomach surged so quickly that Reid took a deep breath to ease the rising bile.

"You're wrong," he growled. "I know they care. It was always about forgetting."

"If you say so," Melinda was suddenly disinterested, casting sideways glances at the partially frozen creek and frost-bitten ground. "But whoever, excuse me," she paused. "Whatever criminal-a mentally ill one I'm assuming- put you in this position, saw themselves in you." And, as if Georgia had never left him, the world around him transformed. Tobias's voice echoed through the darkness: _He'll win in the end. _

"What do you want from me?" He asked her, attempting to control his simultaneous rage and flashback. Then, without warning, Melinda's canvas was back, replacing any emotion that had just peaked through to the outside world.

"I wanted a connection," Melinda was already walking away, signaling the end of their conversation, and Reid was sure it was the wind talking when she spoke next. "I thought you were the one. You're not like the others here, but you and I are heading in different directions."

Reid wasn't sure how long he stood by the frozen water, but he felt lost in the night when he finally trudged back to the building. He wasn't really like Tobias, was he? Had Tobias somehow kept him alive because he saw himself in Reid? As he walked to the dormitories, the wind stung at his skin, which he was surprised to feel was wet. Reaching his fingertips to his face, he understood he was crying. When had that happened? It didn't matter, though, there was a hollowness inside of him, shrinking deeper and deeper down.

"I'm not Tobias," he mumbled to the wind, attempting to find his way back to the rehab facility in the darkness.

But Tobias's voiced echoed around him: _Tell me it doesn't help_, and, when he looked upwards, Reid realized the stars he saw gleaming the night sky could very well be in the same ones he saw in Georgia. He didn't know if he felt infinite or if he felt crazy. Reaching his hand into his pocket, Reid realized the vial wasn't there. Temptation-or, at least, what had thought had been-was gone. Melinda was insane. She _wanted _him to crave drugs. She _enjoyed _his pain.

Standing next to the emergency door, Reid envisioned a thousand scenarios, each more impossible than the next: waking the napping night nurse at her station and telling her how he knew the back door was broken. Telling Dr. B about Melinda, her fake drugs, and her taunting. Or, barging into her room and taking her face between his palms, kissing her to let him know how angry he was. Reid could not place why, but Melinda felt like a magnet, pulling him closer and closer to a very real sense of destruction. And, when the later choice became more forceful, Reid heard Morgan's words echoing in the night: _"You and I both know there are a lot of ways to escape yourself."_ Melinda was just that, Reid realized-an escape for the very real reality that he, Spencer Reid, was in a rehab facility because he had a drug problem. And the funny thing about this was, Reid understood he could do much better than staggering through the night with a tear-soaked face and half-frozen extremities. _It's time to start your own recovery, _Reid told himself. With this epiphany, Spencer opened the exit door a crack, squeezed inside, and, without a glance at Melinda's closed door, headed towards his own room.


	33. Chapter 33

**Hi there fanfic readers. I know this chapter is kind of short, but trust me when I say there's loads more to come. It just felt like a chapter that needed to stand by itself. As with the previous chapter, this one deals with some heavy subjects matters. For those of you who could possibly become upset and/or triggered, please proceed with caution.**

**As always, thank you to everyone who left reviews, alerts, messages, etc. I appreciate all of the feedback. :)  
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_And I find it kind of funny. I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you. I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world."- Gary Jules "Mad World."_

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And, suddenly, it was morning. It took a moment for Reid to place where he was, but when he saw his shoes in the corner, the picture on his nightstand, and heard Jim's light snores, he knew he was in his room. Spencer's memories from the night before felt hazy and surreal. It was almost like Melinda had intoxicated him to the point of delusion. As he shoved a sweatshirt over his thin t-shirt and pajama pants, Reid contemplated an early morning walk. He was deciding which path to use when a scream and immediate cries for help had him bolting out the door before he could register what was going on and where he was headed.

Then, the world was in slow motion: The nurses were rushing past, but one yelling for a chair. He was tall, so he pushed his way towards the single occupant room by the exit door that did not latch. They tried to stop him, but the nurses realized they needed his height, and they allowed him to rush to the tightly knotted bed sheets. How she twisted it off the top of the windowpane, Reid wasn't sure, but there wasn't time for that quandary now. He grabbed her knees and hoisted her limp body upwards with strength that, later on, Reid thought Morgan would have been proud to see. Her upper body sagged forward, and Reid knew, he just simply understood, that it was too late. Mike was there too, although Reid had not remembered seeing him run out of the room directly next to his. Maybe his mind was still in Iraq and cries for help were the spark, igniting the world into a forward motion.

"God dammit, these knots are tight!" Mike was yelling as one of the nurses handed him something sharp. Reid hoisted her weight once more, but it was his steady voice that broke through the chaos.

"We're too late." If Mike heard him, he made no attempt to respond. The sound of ripping fabric hit Reid's ears with the suddenness of a gunshot. Her weight released, and Reid stumbled backwards. Waves of golden hair masked his face, and, when he placed her to the floor, the blue lips did not startle him. On her neck where the sheets had been, the imprint was deep and raw, and, from the serrated marks, Reid could tell she had not fought. She hadn't even kicked her legs, welcoming death with unyielding acceptance. When her bloodshot eyes bore into his, Reid couldn't help but wonder why, for the first time, she looked so alive. Funny thing was, death made her come to life with bits of beauty that flowed upwards, resonating color off the muted walls. He stared at her eyes, barely understanding that Mike and one of the nurses had begun CPR compressions.

"What the fuck?" Mike spotted the cuts on her lifeless arms when her shirt sleeve hiked upwards. For a brief second, Reid's eyes met Mike's, and Reid saw the protective covering. The part of Spencer that was wasn't on emergency mode acknowledged that Mike was shielding himself from the world where death was always lurking around each corner, willing and ready to destroy any new found sense of stability.

He watched with detached interest as Mike pushed a series of rhythmic compressions onto her sternum. Reid had seen CPR be administered probably thousands of times, but it just didn't seem practical now. The whole situation felt as though it was a dream.

"That's not going to work you know." Spencer's knees hurt from kneeling against the linoleum, but it seemed like no one was listening. Imagines from last night came hurtling forward, and Reid felt her lips on his, the wind around them, and he saw what he thought had been drugs spill to the ground. Right now, Reid realized, he wanted nothing more than the cold slide of needle, the break of skin, and the the weightlessness of a drug-induced coma.

"Come on!" Mike was growling in furry now, and Reid, startled by the intensity of his friend's voice, jumped upwards, coming down hard onto his bony knees. Her eyes stared directly at him, and Spencer felt something shift. She hadn't done this to spite anyone, or to make some final statement. This wasn't for her alcoholic mother, distant sister, or whatever had happened when she was a CIA agent. This certainly wasn't about her old teammates or whoever she had previously trusted. Reid's chest constricted when he realized she did it because she had realized how alone she truly was in the world. Finally, Spencer understood. It all made perfect sense now.

The world was raining down on him, and he couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry," he stood, watching Mike's futile attempts to revive Melinda. "But I can't do this anymore." Spencer Reid walked out of the room, pushing past the small crowd of patients that had formed outside her bedroom door. In the hallway, his legs worked for him, and he broke into a sprint, slamming open the front doors with the knowledge that there would be air on the outside. There would be life.

And he would be real again.


	34. Chapter 34

**There are so many things I want to say, but I'm a bit unsure how or where to begin. I guess I should start with a huge thank you. The reviews and messages I received were beyond amazing. The last chapter was a heavy one that detailed real-life issues, and I'm humbled by the responses I received. So many of you said it was emotionally effective, and many more told me in both reviews and PMs about personal experiences. I feel honored to have been able to reach some of you through writing. While I'm always appreciate receiving an alert or review, I feel moved to have been trusted with these disclosures all because I wrote a chapter that struck a chord with so many.**

**That being said, I wanted to put this paragraph in the last chapter. I don't mean this as a public service announcement or a sign if disrespect, but, if you or someone you know is suicidal, please know there's help. I wanted to post national suicide hotline numbers, but they vary depending on where you live. However, there are some great, informative websites. Hopeline(dot)com is a great one for those in need or for those who just want to know more information. I'm just someone who had an idea for a fanfiction, but you guys are the ones who can actually act on the issues I've written about. Help is always available.**

**This next chapter is long, and I wanted to post it early as a thank you for such wonderful reviews. When I began this story, I never imagined how well this would be received. I am entirely grateful to all of you readers. In this next addition, there are references to Episode 1.10, "The Popular Kids," and Episode 2.12, "Profiler, Profiled" (I took some poetic liberties with that one). I don't have enough words to make that as clear as I want, so, until then, enjoy the next chapter. :)  


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_"There's something happenin' here. What it is ain't exactly clear. There's a man with a gun over there tellin' me I got to beware. I think it's time we stop... What's that sound? Everybody look what's going down."-Buffalo Springfield, "For What It's Worth"_

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The punching bag in front of Derek Morgan swayed to the side, but stayed relatively still given the amount of force Derek applied. Trying again from another angle, Morgan brought his fist back, propelling it forward with all his might. This time, the bag lurched, rushing back to him with so much force, Derek almost was flattened by the intensity of its momentum. Steadying it with his taped palms, Morgan sighed, leaning his head onto the thick canvas. The team's last case had upset him, as many cases did, but there was something about Emily's face as she looked into the gun's chamber that made sleep an enemy these past few nights. Now, in the early morning hours, the Bureau's gym provided a refuge from Morgan's tossing and turning. He wasn't the only agent in the facility, but the others, seeing his desperate, angry whacks against the punching bag, gave him more than adequate space. It didn't matter the department-the other agents understood how cases dug under your skin, burrowing to the very center of insecurities.

_**Two Weeks Prior:**_

_The light entering his room stabbed at his eyelids. Morgan's stomach rolled, and he groaned loudly, placing a heavy hand to his temples. Why had that many drinks seemed like such a good idea last night? Then, without hesitation, Morgan's memory immediately recalled Logan White, the extended hand with the long index finger that wrapped around the gun's trigger, and how Emily's eyes had widened in fear. Morgan groaned again, shoving a pillow over his face. Even with his stellar hangover, his mind had jumped right back to the previous day._

_Wait-how had he gotten home?_

_Morgan bolted upwards, immediately recoiled at the impulsive decision. Once his surroundings stopped swimming in and out of view, Derek surveying his room for clues. His clothes from the night before were scattered; his jeans and half unraveled belt lay on the floor by the bathroom's door. One shoe sat between the bed and nightstand and the other appeared to be missing in action. Morgan's wallet, chap stick tube, and loose change had made it to his dresser, but his black t-shirt was hanging off his TV. In Clooney's dog bed was his other shoe, and Morgan grinned, turning to face the dog on the other side of the bed. For a moment, Clooney's eyes became enlarged, but, when Morgan scratched behind his ears, the dog understood he was not in trouble._

_"It's okay, boy." He told the mutt. "It's not your fault that my shoe's in your bed." The dog whined, flipping onto his belly for a good scratch. Morgan obliged, laughing when Clooney gave a playful grunt, scooting closer. Morgan was debating a day of watching football when a noise from downstairs startled him. In a flash, he was reaching for the nightstand's drawing, pulling out the familiar glock from the top drawer. Clooney whined again, and Morgan hushed him with a whispered, yet forceful, "stay!"_

_Who the hell was downstairs? _

_With the silent, pigeon-toed steps, Derek eased into the hallway, almost blowing his cover by tripping on his discarded to-go bag situated in the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen. If the intruder saw him now, there would be nowhere to hide. Ducking into the bathroom, Morgan ripped open the shower curtain, but the only thing he saw was his bottles of shampoo, shaving cream, razor, and bar of soap. Gun extended, he turned back towards the kitchen. Another noise, louder this time, shattered the stillness. Morgan took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a quick, silent prayer, and careened into the kitchen._

_"Freeze!" _

_"Drop it!"_

_Morgan was not expecting the intruder to have a gun. He was not prepared for the voice to be just as collected as his own, and he definitely was surprised that it would be female. However, the biggest shock was to see Emily Prentiss at the other end of the gun. For a surreal moment, they eyed one another, and then the dawning of understanding-both lowered their weapons and laughed nervously._

_"You scared me!" Emily exclaimed, and Morgan noticed she was shaking. He hair was in a disheveled ponytail, and, when Morgan investigated further, he noticed she was wearing a pair of his basketball shorts and one of his black t-shirts._

_"I scared you? You're in my apartment!"_

_"I..." Prentiss trailed off, watching as Morgan put the glock in an unused kitchen drawer next to a flashlight. "I guess I forgot I stayed on your sofa last night after the bar." By her soft voice and fleeting eye contact, Morgan could tell Emily was embarrassed._

_"Well," he began with a grin. "I guess that makes two of us. I thought you were someone trying to break in." Emily laughed loudly, but it faded quickly. Derek saw that, while her hands were by her side, Emily was still holding her gun; in her fact, her knuckles had turned snow white._

_"Em," he began softly, taking a step towards her. "It's okay. You're safe now. It's just me. Why don't you put your gun down?" Her face contorted in confusion before she looked at her right hand as if she was aware it was attached to her body, but unsure of what, exactly, to do with the appendage._

_"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Carefully, Emily placed her gun onto the kitchen counter, leaning onto the empty space and sighing heavily. "I feel like shit."_

_"Getting too old to drink that much?" Morgan teased, attempting to alleviate the heaviness that had entered the room. Emily glared at him and Morgan grinned again._

_"Don't even tell me that you don't feel like complete shit." She countered._

_"Nope. I feel like shit run over. Twice." That garnered a smile._

_"How did we get back here?" She asked. Morgan rubbed his hand over his face, thinking back to the night before. Pieces of a dimly lit bar came into view. There had been dancing females, too many drinks and potent shots, and he vaguely remembered being in a drive-through as he sat in the back-seat of an old convertible. Who owned a convertible?_

_"I remember a convertible." Emily's nodded slowly at Moran's words, as if the memories were coming back to her in a series of flashing clips._

_"Doesn't Garcia own one?" She queried, and Morgan nodded._

_"That makes sense that baby girl drove us home. I'm guessing she took JJ back too?" Emily nodded, biting her bottom lip in confusion._

_"Do you remember anything else?" Morgan asked, opening the fridge and taking out two bottles of water._

_"Yeah, french fries." She ran her hand over her tangled hair. "Did we dance?" Morgan closed his eyes, envisioning the females close to him on the dance floor. There were jutting hips, sweat lingering on glistening skin, and loud, booming techno music._

_"I guess so. Knowing how I am, I probably did." Emily laughed. _

_"And, knowing how I am, I just drank." She joked. It was Morgan's turn to chuckle._

_"Oh we both definitely drank. If not, I think I have a brain aneurysm." Emily snorted, chocking slightly on her water._

_"That's something I won't be doing for a while. I feel like my head's been split in two." She said, sipping the water slowly. Morgan smiled through his pounding headache._

_"I hear you, sister. This is the hangover to end all hangovers." For a moment, they stood in the kitchen. Outside the window above the sink, Morgan saw the gray sky outlining the backyard, which was adorned with frosted grass. Winter was definitely on its way._

_"Thanks for letting me stay here." Emily said, her voice suddenly soft._

_"No problem, although next time let's try not to shoot each other." Emily smiled, but it disappeared from lips the moment it formed._

_"I didn't want to be alone last night...I mean, I know nothing happened and the case could have been much worse-" Morgan had never heard Prentiss trip over her words before, but he sure had heard other coworkers belittle their feelings and experiences before._

_"Stop, Prentiss." Morgan kept his voice caring, yet stern. She met his gazes. "It doesn't matter how bad the situation could have been or if Logan White shot you or not. What matters," he paused for emphasis. "Is that you're alive. You're here. You made it through another case."_

_"It just feels like this shouldn't be a big deal." Morgan nodded in understanding._

_"Maybe it does because you're used to so much worse or because you know what could have been, but having a gun pointed at you shouldn't be the norm, Emily. It doesn't matter whether or not you walked away. If it scared you, it scared you. You should honor that." Emily bit her bottom lip so hard Morgan saw her skin turn white. Maybe it was the residual affects of the alcohol or Emily's conflicting emotions, but Morgan realized she was trying not to cry. _

_"It's normal to feel scared." He kept his voice low, his tone graveled, and his eyes soft. She met his stare and nodded, shaking the emotions from her being with a nod of the head. Morgan didn't tell her that he had said the same thing to Reid right before he entered the rehab facility. Sometimes, in fleeting moments, Emily reminded him of Spencer in a way that sent a quick jab of pain right to his heart._

_"Thanks." Morgan smiled, gulping some water down his parched throat._

_"Anytime. I'm always here to help, although I don't think I can erase these hangovers..."_

_"You know what fixes a hangover?" Emily asked, jumping back to her old self and walking to the adjacent living room. Morgan followed, entering the room to see a crumpled blanket and pillow on the blue sofa. On the floor, sat Emily's to-go bag, open and topped with her clothes from the night before. Morgan also spotted a half-empty glass of water and a double-bagged, but thankfully empty, garbage can. Morgan had learned the double bag trick in college (it was easier to clean up with two bags) but he wasn't sure if he had placed the small trash can next to Emily last night._

_"What?" He finally asked, watching as Emily picked up her phone._

_"Breakfast. I'll call JJ and Hotch. You want to call Gideon and Garcia?" Morgan couldn't help but smile. They had the day off, but he knew that his coworkers would accept the invite. From upstairs, came the remnants of a faint whine, and Morgan chuckled. That dumb dog would stay all day if he let him. After grabbing a dog treat from the kitchen, Morgan took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the fact that he could barely remember the night before. Sometimes, that was the best medicine._

**Present Day:**

Morgan grunted_, _giving the punching bag one last blow. Breakfast had been remarkably lighthearted, as Garcia and Gideon-the night's designated drivers-filled in the other member's of the team on their drunken shenanigans. Morgan was right-there had been dancing, but it was mostly done by him, as well as a little bit from JJ. Hotch had won a bet over some trivia game against a bunch of cops, and there had been a round of shots that seemed endless. Apparently, JJ and Emily had even decided to sing karaoke, giving a loud, albeit hysterical, rendition of "I Will Survive" to the rowdy bar goers. Morgan had left the dinner that morning feeling substantially better than he normally did after a case, even if his hangover was causing his brain to split in two.

But, later on that day, he remembered his anger. He remembered Gideon's words. And, now, Morgan could not help but feel anything but conflicted.

In the weeks following the Logan White case, it was clear the Emily had not forgotten, but she was making a valiant attempt to conceal the dark bags under her eyes and her startled responses. A few times, Morgan wanted to say something, but Emily had given him the "talk to me about it and you're dead look," stopping him in his tracks. It had reminded Morgan of Reid directly after the Hankel case. The rage surged through him, and Morgan turned back to the punching bag to relieve his sudden temper. He _would not _let another coworker drown under the weight of the job.

_**About four months prior:**_

_"Hey, Pretty Boy." Reid didn't look up from his furious scribbling. On his right, sat a stack of finished paperwork and, to his left, was a smaller stack of unfinished forms. "Why don't you call it a night. It's getting late. You want to grab some dinner?" _

_"Sorry, Morgan. That sounds great, but I need to finish these." Reid didn't stop writing, nodding towards the unfinished pile. Morgan rubbed his hand over the back of his head._

_"Reid, you can finish those and mine in the time it takes me and Prentiss to finish one case file. Why don't you take a break? You've been working nonstop all day." That morning, Reid had burst into the office with way more than the usual amount of pep. From his seat at their group of desks, Morgan met Emily's raised eyebrows._

_"How many cups?" She had asked, nodding towards Reid, who was rocking from the front of his feet to his heels as he waited for the coffee pot to brew the thick, black sludge._

_"From the way he's bouncing around?" Morgan contemplated. "I'd say about six." Emily shook her head in disbelief, checking her wrist watch._

_"It's only 8 in the morning," she said, a note of disbelief in her voice. She was still nursing the same coffee that she had poured in her travel mug an hour prior._

_"Something tells me it's going to be a record-breaking type of day." Derek replied. What Morgan didn't say, but what Emily knew anyway, was that no one on the team, even Reid, drank that much coffee unless they were hungover or fighting the effects of little to no sleep. It bothered Morgan that he couldn't figure out which was the cause. Now, he was still unsure, but he figured, if anything, Reid could use a decent meal. Unbelievably, the kid had begun to look thinner._

_"Come on, Reid. I'll pay." Morgan offered in a friendly, inviting tone. Reid visibly tensed, his hand gripping around the yellow-encased stick of graphite._

_"I'm fine, Morgan!" The voice was a little too loud and definitely too harsh. Reid was not immune to crankiness, but it was rare he projected it at any of his teammates, especially Morgan. If anything, Morgan did that to Reid when he was upset-not the other way around._

_"I didn't ask if you were alright," Morgan kept his voice soft, attempting to hide his surprise at Reid's outburst. "I asked if you wanted something to eat." Reid sighed, finally putting his pencil down and placing shaking fingers to his temples._

_"I guess I can go for some food..." He placated, glancing upwards at Morgan, sending a look of abashed appeasement Morgan knew was an apology. He nodded, waiting for Reid to organize his desk and sling his messenger bag over his shoulder. They had started walking to the exit when Reid stopped Morgan._

_"Can you wait a minute? I didn't realize I needed to use the bathroom." He admitted with flushed, embarrassed cheeks. Morgan nodded._

_"You work too hard, kid!" He called, watching the younger agent's back become smaller and smaller until it disappeared around the corner. When he reappeared moments later, Morgan couldn't help but notice he looked remarkably calmer. Shrugging off his intuition's churning, Morgan fell in step with Spencer as the left the BAU._

_"You like Jullian's?" Morgan asked the younger agent about the small, locally run cafe down the street from the BAU. Reid shrugged, staring at his converse sneakers with feigned interest._

_"Never been." Morgan gave Reid an incredulous look. It was, literally, a ten minute walk from the headquarters. He and Gideon had gone quite a few times. In the parking lot, the lingering day felt warm, but not oppressively so, as Virgina usually was in the summer months. Fall would arrive soon, and Morgan almost asked Reid if he ever carved a pumpkin-something told him sharp objects and Paranoid Schizophrenic mothers were not a good mix. It always made Morgan sad when mentioned what he assumed to be a childhood staple only to realize by Reid's downcast eyes and reddening cheeks that a mainstay in his childhood hadn't even been a thought in Reid's._

_"It's pretty good." Morgan said, referring to the restaurant once they had reached his car. Reid didn't answer, dropping himself into the seat with a weariness Morgan detected, but could not place. In the short, yet silent drive, he stole glances at Reid, who was more preoccupied at the approaching summer night outside the window than he was at his colleague's profiling._

_The kid looked thin. 'Too thin,' Morgan thought. Although he was busy watching the colored sunset, his hands unknowingly fidgeted. It was a very Reid-like behavior, one that Morgan had grown accustomed to over the years, but there was something about it now that was unnerving. Reid's body was slightly shaking, as if he was cold. The air conditioning was on full blast, and Morgan reached for the knob, turning the artificial coolness down a notch. Maybe if the kid had more meat on his bones, Morgan figured, he'd be able to stay a bit warmer._

_But Reid was wearing his usual long sleeve shirt and was still shaking. In fact, Morgan noticed the edges of the collar, which was somewhat hidden by his mass of curls, was laced with sweat. Pretty Boy was cold, yet sweating? Morgan shook his head, turning into an empty parking space. Was he sick? That would explain some of his unusual behavior lately. He cut the ignition, feeling the car's power end abruptly. It didn't surprise him when Reid didn't turn away from the window and its view of the adjacent vehicle._

_Morgan wanted to say something. In retrospect, he thought he should have. Reid's bags were so hollowed, so purple, that it looked as though he had been punched. His shaking, while subtle, was still apparent, and Morgan saw the faint outline of sweat beads around Reid's hairline._

_"Reid." His voice sounded unsure, even for him. Morgan swallowed deeply. "You alright?" The younger agent turned his head slowly to face Morgan, meeting his eyes was glazed-over ones. In the center, Morgan saw his own reflection-scared, uneasy, and completely unaware of his coworker's problems. Reid blinked, but the canvas was not replaced by his usual friendly stare._

_"Why wouldn't I be?" Reid's tone was soft, but it was flat, unemotional, and completely unnatural. Morgan thought there were a lot of reactions to his query, and he had expected a snappy retort or a quick 'I'm fine,' but he had no idea how or where to begin to dissect this clearly unaffected response._

_"You look," Morgan thought how to phrase his concern. "Sick." Reid blinked again._

_"I'm okay. I haven't slept well, but that's not atypical." As suddenly as he had disappeared, glimpses of the old Reid came back as the younger agent's eyes flickered to the car's console before meeting Morgan's again._

_"Anything you want to tell me about?" Reid opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head from side to side. Morgan sighed more out of habit than frustration._

_"You know I'm here for you kid," Morgan began, but stopped when Reid met his look once more. The flatness was back, and Morgan was beginning to feel extremely anxious, although he would never let it show. There was something so wrong about this situation, so incredibly chilling, but he still couldn't place it._

_"The same way you were there for me before?" Reid's tone was still monotonous, but it was seething with rage. Morgan blinked in disbelief, staring at Reid with a curious gaze. If he had profiled correctly, Reid was upset with him; however, if he misread the cues, Reid was simply referring to other instances when Morgan had helped him. To go the first root could, possibly, mean making a huge deal out of a trivial matter. Morgan felt torn, even though his gut was turning in a way that told him something was not right._

_"Yeah, like that, kid." Reid peered down at the seat-belt across his lap._

_"What would you do," he began without looking up, "if you had to choose between something that made things better and made things consequently worse?" Morgan frowned, feeling the skin on his forehead fold._

_"I'm not sure I'm following you, Reid." Reid sighed, running a hand through his hair and glancing out the window. When he spoke again, it was quiet, and Morgan had to strain to hear._

_"What if your everyday life felt impossible, like you were submerged under water, you know?" Morgan didn't know if he liked where this was going. "And the one thing that made it better, the only thing really, didn't actually last? What if this panacea could make everything so much worse? Would you do it anyway and jeopardize everything?" Morgan desperately wanted to know what this cure all was, but, when Reid talked in hypothesizes, it was best not to ask._

_"I think," Morgan began slowly. How the hell could he think of a solution to a problem that was this abstract? "That anything that makes a bad situation worse isn't really a possibility. Yeah, whatever it is may make the moment better, but, in the long run, you and I both know that it's only temporary." There. That sounded plausible, even to Morgan, and certainly to Reid, who was shaking his head in agreement._

_"Yeah. I guess so." Morgan sat for a moment, hands on the steering wheel like he would be driving away soon. Reid stared at the dashboard. The air in the car felt oppressively heavy and, although it was cooler outside than it had been in weeks, it was beginning to become warm without the blast of the air conditioning unit. Morgan felt sweat begin to form at the base of his neck._

_"Hey, kid?" Reid looked towards the older agent. His eyes had grown soft once more, but the look was far off. Wherever Reid was, he was not in the car with Morgan. "Do you want to explain to me why your life feels so impossible right now? If you're drowning, I can throw you a line." Morgan figured it was best to use the water metaphor still. Reid didn't even blink._

_"I never said it was me, Morgan."_

_"Reid, I'm a profiler." Morgan replied, his voice strong and firm. Reid sighed, closing his eyes. When he spoke, the y remained closed._

_"Just don't tell Gideon, alright?" Morgan nodded, ignoring the questions that had sprung immediately to mind, and then realized Reid could not see him. _

_"I won't. I swear." Reid bobbed his head up and down in assurance._

"_That's good because I told him I was dealing with it..." Reid trailed off. With his closed lids, Morgan was unable to salvage an semblance of meaning._

"_Dealing with what, Reid?" He kept his voice calm, although he was churning with worry inside._

_"I've been having a hard time since..." He trailed off, eyes suddenly open as he wiped his palms against his cords. Morgan raised his eyebrows, but stayed quiet. He knew Reid well enough to understand that it would come out eventually. Whatever it was would surface._

_"Since the Hankel case." Under his skin, Morgan's blood boiled. It hadn't been that long ago that he had watched helplessly as Tobias killed Reid and then brought him back to life. It had been a trying case for everyone, and they had all breathed a sigh of relief at the end. He had been stupid, though, not to see this admission sooner. Of course the kid was upset by the case. What normal person wouldn't be?_

_"That's understandable, Reid." Spencer nodding, keeping his eyes downcast."Want to tell me what's been so difficult?" _

_"Sleep." Reid admitted, breathing the one word into the car. Morgan understood. He had spent more than one sleepless night, tossing and turning, pretending that unsubs hadn't chased him into the depths of his own dark experiences and memories._

_"Nightmares?" Morgan asked, remembering the case with the supposed satanic cult so long ago. It wasn't that far back in time, but, right now, it felt like ages since Reid had confided to him about having nightmares._

_"Yes, but..." Reid met Morgan's eyes with a side-shifted gaze. "It's more than that."_

_"What do you mean, kid?"_

_"It's like he, Tobias..." Reid shivered uncontrollably. "It's like he's everywhere, Morgan. He's everyone." Morgan bit his bottom lip. He understood how that felt too. Sometimes, it was how you felt in a crowded place, like someone was watching your every move. It was the same way you heard the unexpected voice from the lips of a familiar face, and it was definitely in those fleeting images that appeared, seemingly, out of nowhere._

_"Do you remember the case in Chicago?" Morgan asked. "The one where I was framed for murder?" It had bothered Morgan to remember how his secrets had been unearthed. He had been certain it was just Gideon and Hotch who knew, but something told him from the way Reid gave him a soft, caring, but quick look, when it was all said it done told Morgan that Reid, being Reid, had either found out or figured it out. However, he had never said word, and Morgan had deeply respected him for it. At the sight of Reid's bob, Morgan continued._

_"That brought up a lot of stuff for me, kid. Stuff that I thought was done and buried, but..." Morgan trailed off partially for emphasis and partially to regain his wavering emotions. "What you don't deal with, comes back. I saw things for a while. Things that I thought were real, but knew weren't at the same time." Reid nodded vehemently in understanding._

_"What did you do?" Morgan ran his tongue over his dry lips. _

_"I talked to someone, I worked out, and I journaled." It felt weird to be sitting in the now stifling car, admitting his coping mechanisms to Reid, but Morgan wanted to help. It had always felt right to protect and help the youngest member of the team, and, if that meant confessing some personal issues, then Morgan was alright with that._

_"Did it help?" Reid asked in a gravely tone. His hands weaved together, interlocking, and then breaking apart only to repeat the process a second later. Morgan watched this movement for a while as he debated how to answer._

_"Yes. It got a bit worse at first, but, eventually, it became more manageable." Reid exhaled._

_"But it didn't go away?" Reid asked, suddenly sounding so young and broken. Morgan forced away the fragility with a hard stare at the young agent in the passenger's seat._

_"You and I both know that's not possible, Reid." Morgan did not have to explain the reverberations of violation and the lifelong aftermath that came and went in waves, surging forwarding during times of personal stress, doubt, and flashbacks, retreating when the storm had passed, rendering him both better and worse for its passage._

_"I know." Reid admitted almost ashamed. Morgan wiped sweat from his forhead. This conversation had made him exhausted. The heat wasn't helping._

_"I'm trying, Morgan." Reid admitted in such a small voice that Morgan felt something inside him break, hanging from hinges. He wasn't sure what Reid was referencing, but he had to stay strong. He had to protect him._

_"I know, kid. Trust me, it will get better. You just have to give it time." Reid nodded, falling silent for a few minutes before speaking._

_"Hey Morgan?" His voice was suddenly upbeat, and Morgan glanced at his transformed features._

_"Yeah, Pretty Boy?"_

_"Can we go inside? I'm kind of hungry and it's really hot in here." Morgan had laughed, opening the door with a woosh of cooler air._

_"I'd thought you'd never ask." And their conversation had ended. Just like that, order had been restored._

**Present Day:**

Morgan spent a long time in the gym's locker room shower, allowing the burning hot water to soothe his aching, overworked, and sleep-deprived muscles. Shame welled within his stomach, at the very core of his being. The signs had been apparent then, and Reid had reached out, but why hadn't he done something until Hotch's address? Why had he been such a bad coworker? Worse, why had he been such a horrible friend?

Morgan dressed with deliberate slowness. It was still an hour before he had to be at work, but, when he finally couldn't procrastinate any longer, he walked to the BAU, figuring he'd brew a cup of crappy coffee and try to catch up on some of the paperwork in the pile that consistenly grew instead of shrinking. He had been expecting a darkened bullpen, but the lights were on and the smell of coffee beans permeated the air.

"You're in early," he told the brunette. She looked up, dark eyes accented by an eggplant colored v-neck shirt. The light caught red in the edges of hair that lingered around her cheekbones, and Morgan wanted to say that she looked beautiful, and, that whatever was bothering, or chasing her, was just a ghost. If she talked about it, things would get better. They had to.

"I should say the same for you." She retorted.

"Fair enough." Morgan put up his hands in mock surrender, heading towards the coffee pot when Emily chuckled.

"You want a cup?" He called. It was still early, and no one was in yet, even Hotch's office door was closed and dark.

"Sure!" She called back. Morgan pulled two disposable cups to the counter, pouring the steaming liquid carefully the openings. Scooping them up and pinching sugar packets between his fingers, he walked back to their desks, feeling the warmth from the coffee seep through the thin barrier. His skin was beginning to burn when he placed one cup on Emily's desk. They busied themselves with the sugar packets and plastic stirrers, easing against seat backs in a quiet contemplation before interrupting the silence.

"You want to go first?" Emily broke before he did, and Morgan watched her blow air onto the top of her drink. The liquid shifted, creating an indent in the center.

"I was at the gym." He said. She raised her eyebrows, and he sighed. "Alright," he admitted. "I went because I couldn't sleep." She nodded, staring into the coffee.

"Well, that makes two of us." Prentiss met his look with sad eyes. "I keep having nightmares about Logan White." Morgan figured this much.

"I know it's stupid," Emily rushed. "Nothing happened."

"Stop it, Prentiss." His voice was harsher than he expected, and Emily noticed, sitting straighter in her chair.

"I'm sorry," Morgan shook his head. "I'm a hypocrite. I've been having nightmares about that too." It was Emily's turn to act surprised now, and she did was a startled look in his direction.

"You know," she began. "We're both letting one unsub get to us." Apparently, this was humorous, and they both chuckled.

"Truce?" Morgan asked, sticking his hand across the desk to shake Emily's. She met his with soft skin and icy fingertips. "We're both going to start moving on." Emily smiled and Morgan couldn't help but return the grin.

"I couldn't agree more." Soon, the connection was broken and they worked in a comfortable silence, filling out reports. The sound of pencil led against paper oddly transformed Derek Morgan. His muscles eased from their rigid stance to relaxed. He concentrated on his statements, forming sentences with an ease that even surprised him. Emily's occasional tapping of her pencil against the desk and their up and down coffee mugs felt like a natural rhythm. Morgan felt like he wanted this quiet, shared moment to last forever.

"It's times like this," Emily surveyed the teetering stack of files on her desk. "when I miss Reid." Morgan laughed.

"Yeah, me too. He could finish all these in a few hours."

"I swear, when he gets back, I'm sneaking him some case files." Morgan shot her a look with a grin.

"Like you don't already?"

"You know what I mean." She met his eyes and Morgan chuckled, shaking his head side to side. When he was sure Emily was busy with her reports, he stole a long glance at Reid's orderly, but empty, desk. Nothing looked out of place, as if he just left yesterday. His stack of case files was sorted in 'to do' and 'completed' wire bins. His pens and pencils sat in their holder and the picture of his mother was titled towards his chair, which was tucked into its slot. The loneliness of it all pained Morgan more than he'd ever admit. When he felt Emily's eyes, he met them, ushering his look downwards, slightly abased. His cheeks felt hot. He didn't look up until he heard the scratch of her pencil against paper. Turning back towards his own work, Morgan sighed. In a half hour, the other agents started arriving, and Morgan felt the reflective moment start to melt. He hung onto what he could, straining to hear Emily's fidgeting and inaudible mumbles.

"Morning." Hotch's brisk voice called, unwavering in surprise when he saw his two agents were early and already neck-deep in work. They called out their separate hellos, resorting back to their files. To his left, the printer rumbled to life, and, when a younger agent swore loudly at it, hitting a number of buttons at once, Morgan knew that the serenity he had felt just a few minutes early had completely vanished. Emily must have sensed it too because she spoke before he could.

"Hey, Derek?" Emily's voice was soft, yet caring. He glanced at her, watching the swirling emotions underneath the brown covering. The color reminded him of newly potted soil. He wondered if his own eyes were just as layered.

"I miss him too." Morgan nodded and, without any other words, the two agents returned to the paperwork, allowing the sounds of the BAU to fill the pockets of emptiness.


	35. Chapter 35

**I'm having a pretty crappy day, so I decided to post this now. Don't ask me why that decision is making me feel better, but it is. Also, as a warning but not a sign of disrespect, I have a basic knowledge of psychology. Any type of mental-health based therapy session or discussion is loosely based on my research, but does not necessarily reflect actual processes, outcomes, or practices.  
**

**And thank you once again for all the kind reviews, alerts, messages, adds. I have the best fanfiction readers on the whole site :)  
**

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_"We all flirt with the tiniest notion of self conclusion in one simplified motion. You see, the trick is that you're never supposed to act on it-no matter how unbearable this misery gets. I would be lying if I said that things would never get rough, and all this cliche motivation, it could never be enough. I could stand here all night trying to convince you, but what good would that do? My offer stands, and you must choose." -The Spill Canvas, "Self-Conclusion"_

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_

The world was weighing down on him. It hurt to breathe. To think. To exist. Reid understood now-he got it. Cravings, unlike any he experienced previously, surged through him. His body wanted the prick and the cool slide of a needle into his veins. It desired the floating, the nothingness, the euphoria of knowing that he was above pain, even in its rawest form. He mind did not comprehend that after the swell, there was a sickening crash-a coming down of catastrophic proportions. Spencer Reid did not want to recall that part of his experience with Dilaudid, so he closed him eyes, trying to force his brain to remember only the high.

But it still felt like he was sinking.

"Spencer," The familiar voice felt like a crack in a steady foundation, and Reid opened his eyes. He was in his room in the rehab facility, this much he could tell from the white-washed ceiling. A man who smelled faintly of the same aftershave Morgan used was sitting in a chair next to his bed. It was dark in the room, but not too dark-not the thick blackness Reid feared. Everything was washed in a gray light that matched the winter landscape outside the windows. Reid propped himself onto his elbows, reaching for the bedside lamp next to the picture that was still facing downwards. He felt a sense of warmth seep to his aching joints when the lamp cast a soothing yellow light outwards.

"It appears," Reid focused on the chair and the man in it and was not at all surprised to see Dr. B. speaking to him. "You've had quit a morning." Reid nodded, sitting crossed legged on his bed. The doctor surveyed the young man in front of him with quick eyes. Although he had gained weight since he first arrived, he was still too thin, and his skin clung tightly to his jutting bones and joints. His brown curls were tangled in odd bunches, his pajama pants and sweatshirt were rumpled too, and his eyes were bloodshot, red rimmed, and frantically trying to piece together what Dr. B had been called in to access. The staff was on emergency scheduling, as they always were if and when a patient committed, or tried to commit, suicide. After assessing Mike Lambert and deeming him fit for some of the day's later activities, Dr. B had entered the room of the center's only resident genius. Hours earlier, he was found wandering the grounds by the creek, half freezing and mumbling to himself. Angela, the nurse who found Spencer, persuaded him to come inside, covered him with a thick blanket, made him a hot cup of herbal tea, and immediately called the doctor. Her words came to mind: _He's definitely in shock, Paul. It's like he's in some kind of mental break. I think he knows where he is, but he's not completely lucid. We didn't sedate him because he's not a danger to himself or anyone else, but he's definitely not with it. You need to see him as soon as possible. _Now, sitting in Spencer's room, Dr. B couldn't help but feel like the agent in front of him was experiencing some type of mild dissociative episode.

"How did I get in here?" Reid's voice sounded cracked and hoarse, and he saw the doctor extend a mug outward. Without glancing at its contents, he took a large sip of tepid herbal tea.

"You don't remember?" Dr. B asked gently. With shaking hands, the mug returned to the nightstand. Reid tried to think, tried to recall, but his last memory was of opening the front doors and the sting of icy air.

"It's like there's this huge void..." Reid trailed off, rubbing his eyes, clearly embarrassed. Since when was he unable to remember anything, even the most insignificant detail?

"This morning, Melinda was found in her room." Reid nodded, biting his lip at the sounds piercing through the stillness: _"Sally! Get a stool, quick! Help me get her down!"_

"She hanged herself with her bedsheets." Dr. B kept his voice even and soft, but he could tell bits and pieces were floating back to Spencer as his face twisted into a lined form of recognition. Reid heard more yelling, understanding it was actually happening presently, but had occurred earlier.

"_I can help! I'm tall!" He told the nurse. Mike pushed past him, not asking permission, and Reid followed suit. Her eyes were as flat and lifeless as they always were._

"I remember. She was dead." Reid thought it was strange that the word "dead" elicited no reaction from him. No emotions swelled upwards. He stared at the doctor and blinked.

"Good," Dr. B nodded his head before speaking. "What happened when you and Mike removed Melinda from the windowsill?"

_"Shit!" It was Mike's breathy whisper that made Reid's blood stop flowing through his veins. He knew that tone-it was the same one Morgan mumbled to himself right before things were going to turn, unbelievably, worse. It was the same tone Garcia used when she called with information no one wanted to hear. It was the tone Hotch tried to hide, Emily mumbled to herself when she didn't want others to know she was upset, JJ spoke with during difficult press conferences, and it was same tone Gideon had when he surveyed a particularly gruesome crime scene. _

_"She fucking did it!" Mike was talking again, but Reid could not figure out why Mike and a nurse were performing CPR on Melinda's lifeless body._

"Dr. Reid?" Dr. B's gentle voice brought Reid out of his memories.

"Sorry." Reid shifted his weight on the bed, feeling how the sheets bunched underneath him. He took another sip of tea before answering the doctor's question.

"I know this is hard, but you're doing great." Dr. B's voice was soft, and Reid's eye burned with the tears he kept from falling. "What happened next?"

"We cut the sheets off. Mike and a nurse tried giving her CPR..."

_Why was no one listening to him? What was going on? A familiar crack filled the air, and Spencer instinctively reached for his own side, feeling the bones that had long since healed. In his desperate attempt to bring Melinda back, Mike's compressions broke her ribs._

"And what did you do while they did this?" It was Dr. B's voice, once again, that returned Reid to his present situation.

"I told them it was no use," Reid admitted, eyes wide, realizing that he had abandoned someone who had needed his help. "I've seen dead bodies before, Dr. B. She wasn't planning on surviving." In a way, it felt as though a fog cleared. Reid remembered the morning. He remembered Melinda's icy skin, her blue lips, and Mike's desperate downward pumps on her thin frame.

"You left when you realized you couldn't help her?" Dr. B asked, scribbling something in a notepad Reid had not noticed earlier.

"If you call running out of her room leaving, then, yes, I left."

"And where did you go? What did you do then?" Reid pressed the bridge of nose and exhaled in a very Hotch-like manner.

"I know I ran out the front doors onto the grounds, but," he stopped, turning his teary eyes upwards before continuing. "I don't really remember what happened after that. My last memory was running to the creek. The next thing I know, I'm in here." Dr. B nodded again, wrote more on his notepad, and watched the young man attempt to regain his composure.

"You don't remember nurse Angela finding you?" Reid tried to kick his brain into process mode, but it stayed stuck. He did, however, recall Angela's line, weathered features, soft brown eyes, and booming laugh. She was the only nurse who gave him a real challenge during poker games.

"I'm sorry, Dr. B," Reid admitted, expression filling with shame. "I can't remember anything after I left the center." Dr. B nodded, clearing his throat. It was common for the mind to cocoon itself in protective covering, forcing painful and traumatic memories into the subconscious. However, for someone with an eidetic memory, it was certainly a terrifying situation. Dr. B kept his voice neutral when he spoke.

"I think your mind protected itself by going into shock." Reid understood. After Georgia, he felt the same way. The world felt as thick as mud being funneled into thin opening. It was slow, disjointed, surreal, and he was completely removed from it all. Spencer turned towards the window, watching a weak sun attempt to spread its rays over the frosted grass.

"What are you thinking about, Spencer?" Dr. B watched the young agent's reactions. It was clear he was ashamed, but, from the way his eyes avoided the doctor's gaze and his cheeks flushed, Dr. B knew there was more. There was something else bothering Spencer Reid.

"There's something else I need to tell you." Reid confessed, letting his brain remember Melinda's lips on his.

"About this morning?" Reid shook his head no.

"About last night. Melinda asked me to meet her at 3 AM." The doctor's eyes narrowed, signaling for Spencer to continue. He took a deep breath, staring into the contents of the mug that had made its way back into his trembling hands.

"About a week ago, I was on a run one morning and Melinda was outside. I knew she wasn't supposed to have morning grounds privileges, but I stopped to talk to her anyway."

"You know that there's nothing wrong with that, Spencer. She was defying orders, but you had every right to be outside." Reid nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"We talked for a bit and then she..." He bit his lip this time, turning his eyes away from the doctor. If anything, Reid would explain, but he did not want to see the look of disappointment in the psychiatrist's eyes. "At the time, I didn't know where it came from or how she obtained it, but Melinda gave me a vial of Dilaudid."

"Do you still have this vial?" Dr. B asked, his voice masked of any emotions or reactions he felt. Reid nodded no.

"It wasn't _actually _Dilaudid." He began, quickly glancing at the doctor. "It was a bottle that Dilaudid would come in, but it was water. She filled it up to trick me...to tempt me..."

"But you carried it around for days thinking it was?" Dr. B's voice was gentler than Reid had expected, and the tears dribbled out before he had a chance to fight. Rubbing a rough palm over his cheeks, Reid looked at the bedspread as it wobbled in and out of view.

"I know it was wrong. I should have just turned it in, but I didn't know...I couldn't..." Panic surged in his chest, causing Reid's breathing to hitch in his throat. God, He didn't want to be doing this in front of the doctor, but his body was reacting. Anxiety attacks weren't strangers to Spencer since entering rehab, but this was his first one that wasn't happening in the dead of night while he balled himself under blankets, hoping Jim wouldn't wake.

"Relax, Spencer," Dr. B's calm voice floated around him, and Reid's mind immediately went to Hotch. How long ago had he been in a graveyard experiencing a flashback? It felt like a different lifetime.

"Take deep breaths. In, then out..." Dr. B watched as Reid's fast tempo breathing melted into a rhythmic set of breaths. "Good. Now, focus your senses like we discussed." Reid did as he was told and was surprised to realize that he felt relatively stable, albeit tired. Whenever he had the attacks in his darkened bedroom, he allowed them to take over until he was choking on the air, certain the world was crushing him. While he and Dr. B had worked on tools that would help ease his panic, Reid had never attempted using them. He always thought he couldn't control his body before it spiraled out of control. Now, ignoring the blatantly helpful advice seemed foolish and immature. Reid's cheeks burned.

"Do you think you're okay to continue or do you want to save the rest for tomorrow?" Dr. B asked.

"No. I'd rather get it out now" he explained, grabbing a tissue that Dr. B handed him.

"Alright, but take your time." Reid nodded, conducting a few more deep inhalations and slow exhalations before continuing.

"When Melinda asked me to meet her last night, I knew I shouldn't have gone, but I wanted to confront her, I guess." Spencer didn't know why this truth had not occurred to him earlier. In hindsight, it seemed so plausible.

"I can imagine having that bottle of Dilaudid, whether it was real or not, felt very much like a battle?" Dr . B probed. As if he had never left, Melinda's words floated to him: _Everyone needs a test..._

"I didn't want you to kick me out...I need to be here. My coworkers..." Reid felt another surge of terror shoot through him-he could very well get expelled for this deception. What would the team say? Worse, what would Hotch say after all the care he had taken with choosing a such a specialized rehab facility?

"Please don't expel me, Dr. B" Reid pleaded, facing the doctor with wet cheeks. He couldn't stop his emotions and it felt oddly debilitating and liberating all at once. "Hotch sent me here for a reason, and I think I need to be here or, at least, it feels that way sometimes. I know I'm stubborn and I'm still holding onto things. I know we haven't talked about Georgia, but I can't leave. Please, I-" Spencer wanted to say more, planned on continuing his fast-paced ramble, but was stopped by Dr. B.

"Dr. Reid." The psychiatrist put his hand up, palm facing Spencer, to stop him. Taking the hint, Reid took a deep breath as quivers shook his body. Dr. B handed him another tissue, which he took gratefully.

"I think we should be okay for today. You're obviously very upset right now and continuing this conversation will not do you or I any bit of good. If you're up to it, why don't you try going to evening group?" Reid nodded, tearing at the tissue in his lap.

"Alright." He agreed. Dr B. stood, moving the chair to the side wall as he did.

"I'm going to give you a mild sedative." When the agent's eyes grew wide, Dr. B continued. "It's non-habit forming. It should help you sleep without any interruptions." Reid nodded, swallowing in attempts to relieve his dry mouth. He knew that "interruptions" was code for "nightmares."

"Am I in trouble?" Reid asked, knowing he sounded very much like a young child instead of a FBI agent. Dr. B couldn't help the smile that reached his lips.

"You're not going to be expelled from this program, Spencer." Reid let out a sigh of relief. "But I think there may be some disciplinary action that we need to work out later. For now, I want you to try and relax." Reid didn't know why, but he felt as though it was a deserved punishment.

"Thanks." Dr. B nodded as his eyes traveled to the picture frame, which was still facing downward on the bedside table.

"You want to thank them, even if you don't want to right now." He motioned towards the photograph. Reid couldn't help the confusion from entering his expression-how had he known who or what was in the picture?

"They're the reason you're here at all." Dr. B began heading for the exit with long strides, stopping in the door frame.

"I never asked to be here." Although he had just confessed moments prior to thinking this was the truth, Reid found his lips worked for him before his brain could rationalize the statement. "My boss _sent _me here. It's not like I hit rock bottom or anything." Reid emphasized. The doctor met his eyes for a moment.

"True, but here's a question, Spencer: where would you be right now if he hadn't help you get here?" Words did not form, and Reid watched as Dr. B turned, heading into the hallway's bright lights. In a moment, he returned with a tall glass of water and two white pills that reminded Reid of Hotch's prescription. Reid shoved the medication down with large, salty gulps.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Reid." Spencer nodded. "If you need anything in the meantime, don't hesitate to talk to the nurses. Angela tells me you're a good poker player." Reid smiled, glancing down at his blanket. Something told him most patients when they couldn't sleep did not play poker with the night-shift nurses. Reid watched as Dr. B hesitated once more in the doorway.

"And Spencer?" The doctor asked, turning to face the young man once more. Reid nodded, wondering what came next. "Everyone has a rock bottom, _everyone. _Some may be more catastrophic and defined than others, but it's still just have to let yourself remember yours."

Reid waited until the Doctor's footsteps faded before reaching for the picture, taking a long time to study the features he could recall very clearly. Homesickness filled Reid with pangs of emptiness and longing. He wanted to see them all, and he wanted to hear their voices. He'd give anything to hear Morgan and Garcia's disturbing banter, JJ's laugh, Hotch's controlled orders, Emily's witty sarcasm, and Gideon's soft words of encouragement. But Reid also heard Melinda's voice, drifting back to him, as if from a dream: _I wanted a connection... but you and I are heading in different directions. _

_Oh God, _Reid thought. _What if she killed herself because of you? What if you were her reason? _However irrational this seemed, Spencer could not help the burning sensation that forced the bile upwards at an alarming rate. For a moment, he sat motionless in fear of becoming sick onto the bedspread. When the feeling finally passed, Reid sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

_You know that wasn't true. She had no other choice. _This thought was more lucid that his last, yet Reid couldn't help but feel sad when he empathized how it felt to be out of options.

Wanting to take his mind off of Melinda, Reid let his thoughts fall on his last conversation: What the hell had Dr. B meant by "rock bottom"?

But, Reid also understood that he knew very well what the doctor was referring to-he had seen it enough on cases, with criminals and unsubs who had no way out. There were countless murder victims, ruined families, and images and pictures burned into his brain that became nightmares. He _was not _one of them. He couldn't be, but the walls of his rehab room told him otherwise.

"I didn't fall apart," Reid argued to the emptiness. When the outlines of his room became fuzzy, Reid turned to lay on his side, hugging the picture close and pretending that when he closed his eyes, his teammates were there.


	36. Chapter 36

**Hi everyone! The following chapter has references to episode 2.18 "Jones." Also, I need to extend a huge thanks to "Rosie the Riveter" for her help with military information, particularly as it relates to drug abuse policies and regulations. That information would have been much harder to find if I didn't have her first-hand expertise. **

**Thank you for all the kind, wonderful reviews. Honestly, and I totally mean this when I say it, I really do have the best set of reviewers on the site. Also, thanks to everyone who reads this story, alerts, and adds it, or me, as a favorite. It's all appreciated.**

** I'll be traveling this upcoming week. I want to try and upload another chapter before I go, but, depending on time allocations, that may not be possible. If you don't read a new chapter in the upcoming week, don't worry-It will come soon (as will JJ's visit because I know some of you have been questioning when it will happen).**

**I hope everyone's having a happy Halloween. :) Enjoy!  
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_"Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. 'Relax,' said the night man. 'We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.'"-The Eagles "Hotel California"_

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**About three and a half months prior:**

_"I mean, she's not ugly, but, dude, she's a bit fat." Disgusted, Reid attempted to ignore the conversation of what, he assumed to be, two college frat guys. He just wanted to drink in peace-not hear their remarks on the every single female in the populated bar. This establishment, a sports one, was not Reid's usual choice for drinks. In fact, he preferred shadowed jazz clubs with plush chairs and murmured conversations over a series of TV stations all showing some sporting event, wall-to-wall athletic paraphernalia, and rows of pool tables and lines of dart boards. Then again, Gideon's words a few hours earlier had chosen this place for him: "You're not all that hard to profile."_

_Reid downed the rest of his whiskey, noting that this one burned far less than the last three. He signaled for the bartender, who flirted shamelessly with the two college guys before heading his way._

_"Another one?" She asked, leaning over slightly to reveal what was underneath her low-cut top. Reid avoided looking._

_"You know," she mentioned while busying herself with his drink order, letting her eyes fall on the thin man with shaking hands, fidgeting legs, and bag-adorned eyes, "You'd probably be happier if you smiled once and a while." _

_"My unhappiness is none of your business." His voice came out with too much anger, too much force, and she saw her blink a couple times, obviously surprised that her nonchalant comment and voluptuous curves had not produced smiles and flirtatious banter._

_"No need to get pissy," she retorted. "I'm just sayin', you look upset." Reid smiled, keeping his lips pursed tightly together. He gulped the glass of whiskey, shoving bills at the bartender._

_"I'd like to be left alone. I can miss any damn plane I want." He understood that she wouldn't, but he said it anyway. _

_"Just chill out." She said in a wobbly tone. In his peripheral vision, Reid saw meat head one and meat head two look in his direction. He knew if he stayed, he'd be in a lot more trouble than he needed. Then, suddenly, her mood changed as she leaned closer to him, dropping her voice a few notches. "Do you need me to help you out?" She was seducing him, Reid understood, but he could not comprehend why his blood was boiling under his skin._

_"What I don't need," he heard his tone sharpen and watched her eyes widen, "Is some dumb, slutty fucking bartender telling me what to do." Without a final thought on his uncharacteristic outburst and hostility, he turned away from the tear-filled eyes, breathing heavily and stomping to the door. Hell, he could find something better than alcohol to do the trick._

_It hadn't been hard._

_In fact, it had been surprisingly easy to obtain Dilaudid. One visit to his always-loud, college-aged upstairs neighbor had been lucrative. The neighbor, drunk himself, called his equally young drug dealer, who, from the looks of it, was so messed up that he didn't care who he sold what to or where this new buyer may work. Two vials later, Reid sat in the confines of his apartment, which was becoming more disorganized as time between Georgia and the present lapsed. Taking a moment, Reid stared at the bottles and syringe in front of him. This didn't seem real. Any moment now, Tobias would barge through the door. Reid could hear his soft voice: "Tell me it doesn't help."_

_He filled the syringe, watching as the liquid seeped into the clear, thin tube. Sitting in the dimly lit living room, Reid realized there was something soothing about this wait, this routine. Rolling up the sleeve on his shirt, Reid placed the now-full syringe down on the table, tying his arm off with the long, narrow piece of cloth he had ripped off an old towel. Without blood flow, the blue veins bulged, each one begging Reid for the injection. After a few moments of careful deliberation, Reid chose a particularly visible, elongated vein and steadily brought the needle towards it. He knew enough to do it slowly-too much at once would be fatal and, before the drugs took control, he untied the wrap, placed the syringe on the coffee table, leaned against the couch, and waited._

_When the oblivion came in sudden surges of lights, color, and beauty Reid had not remembered before, he ignored the fragments lingering from his old self, telling him in a voice that was quickly fading that this wasn't going to work and that it would certainly not help. _

_He had injected Dilaudid on his own. Tobias was nowhere around, except in his dreams and ghost-like daily apparitions, and Reid closed his eyes, feeling euphoria's startling release. Why hadn't thought to do this on a daily basis? If he had, there would be many planes to miss._

_And when Reid realized that he wouldn't care if he missed every plane for the rest of his life, he laughed out loud, wondering where Gideon was, so he could tell him he was no longer struggling._

**Present Day**

Bolting out of bed and covered in a thin sweat, Reid half-expected to see his apartment as it had appeared just moments before-somewhat disorganized and dimly lit. Instead, he noted a weak light entering through the glass windows. Outside his room, the bustles of the patients and nurses soothed his rapid breathing. Reid understood that what he had just remembered was a real memory-one that he had stored away, vowing to forget. Rubbing his eyes, Reid let his bare feet fall on the cool floor, enjoying how real the sensation of frigid tiles felt on his skin.

_That was just a few weeks after Georgia, _Reid's brain reminded him. He knew there were other times-other memories-that he had blocked out. Whether Melinda's suicide had stirred something in him or whether a few hours of decent sleep had, Reid couldn't tell. Instead, he padded his way to the nurse's station, asking for a clean towel and showering products so he could wash the past few days down the drain.

The shower was warm, soothing, and once he was dry and dressed, Reid wandered into the lobby. It was quieter than usual, and Reid stood at the entrance to the entertainment room, wondering what to do. As if understanding his bewilderment, a nurse spoke.

"Everyone's farming or in afternoon groups, honey." He turned to face a short, dark-skinned woman next to him. _Her name's Angela, _he remembered. Her eyes were a light brown, and Reid saw that they were filled with sympathy only years of hardship could create.

"Dr. B said that you and Mr. Lambert can attend night group later on, so, until then, you're a free man." She joked, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth. Reid looked at her brightly colored scrubs and felt a pang of homesickness for the tech analyst.

"Do you like cards?" He asked her hopefully, watching as her cheeks dimple when she smiled.

"Sorry Dr. Reid," Angela spoke jokingly. "But it's too early for a card game, I'm not working the night shift today, and I don't feel like losing all the candy I brought in, but something tells me the night nurses want a rematch." Reid smiled, staring at the even tiles on the hallway's floor.

"I guess..." Reid surveyed his surroundings, "I'll watch TV?" She nodded, motioning towards the room to his left.

"You may have some company." Angela said, plodding back to the nurse's station. Knowing who would be in there, Reid headed into the entertainment room with its worn ping pong table, outdated magazines, and dog-eared books. On the checkered blue and white couch, he saw Mike, absentmindedly shoving candy into his mouth, staring at a daytime talk show with intense interest.

"I wouldn't pin you as a talk show kind of guy," Reid joked, sinking into the soft, worn cushions. Mike smiled, but did not look in his direction, extending a hand of candy forward, which Reid took gratefully.

"This one's really good," Mike said through a mouthful of sugar. "Oprah's helping people with their wardrobes." Reid turned his attention to a woman with, perhaps, worse style than he had. No doubt, the show would transform her looks and life.

"She's really excited." Reid raised his eyebrows. The woman was shrieking, jumping up and down, and practically wetting herself. Mike grinned, facing him now.

"You should have seen the one before her. I thought she was going to drop dead." And, with the sudden realization of what he had said, Mike's face froze. Reid felt his own muscles tense.

"I uhhh..." Mike stammered.

"I know what you mean." The men sat in an awkward silence for a moment.

"Thanks for helping me get her down today." Mike didn't face Reid, but his crunching on the candy grew louder and more forceful. Reid understood he was anxious about their conversation-he was too.

"I don't think you should thank me," Reid stared at his hands in his lap, feeling the cushion shift under Mike's weight. "I didn't really help much after that." Mike's Adam's apple bob under the weight of coated sugar.

"I don't think it matters, though. You saw her, she definitely wanted to die." Reid sighed at Mike's words, running his hands through his hair.

"You know," Mike pondered, passing the candy back to Reid, who shook a few pieces from its bag. "I've seen dead people before in some really fucked up states, like half blown apart..." Reid understood the reference to his time in combat and he nodded, urging Mike to continue.

"But it's some chick I knew in rehab who stays with me. It was just so..."

"Real?" Reid offered when Mike failed to articulate his thoughts. Mike nodded vehemently.

"Exactly. War's very surreal. One minute, you're driving and patrolling. The next, your lying next to your vehicle, it's on fire, and your buddy is missing a leg, bleeding everywhere, and screaming for help."

"I know what you mean." Reid felt the familiar surge of understanding. "Crime scenes are like that." Mike met his eyes, showing him he was listening.

"You go to a scene to observe a dead body, and you dissect it-you look for clues that will tell you how this person died. Yeah, it's honorable to bring justice and all, but..." Reid bit his bottom lip for a moment, letting his eyes fall on the TV screen.

"It's hard because you have to separate yourself, although you know somewhere inside of you that the dead body you're scrutinizing-the victim-used to be a real person." Mike's long exhalation made Reid jump.

"Well," Mike began, somewhat amused. "I guess it's no wonder we're drug addicts." Reid smiled, reaching out for more candy that Mike offered.

"Dr. B told me I have to remember my rock bottom." Mike rolled his eyes, but Reid noted it was in a kidding way, almost like Morgan would have done when he rattled off some statistic or fact at an inappropriate time.

"I thought you had a great memory there, kid?" Mike teased. Reid shrugged, picking at his fingernails.

"I do, but I'm really good at compartmentalizing." Mike observed how Spencer fidgeted, unable to reach full comfort. In his short time knowing him, Mike quickly understood the kid never sat still and, Mike rationalized that if his body did that, then his brain had to be moving at even faster rates.

"If it will help," he offered. "Want to hear mine?" Reid felt his eyes enlarge and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Mike, It's not-"

"I think," Mike contemplated. "Today is different." Reid nodded, falling silent. He didn't have to wait long before Mike began speaking, keeping his eyes anywhere but Reid's.

"It was right after my third tour. The minute we got in ally territory, we drank. Drinking in the military isn't a secret. I mean, we all do it, but there's nothing like the drinking you do when you're being deployed or returning home." Reid nodded, wondering if it was comparable to the times he had drank himself into a stupor after a rough case. Sometime told him it probably wasn't.

"I wasn't in good shape already. Yeah, I served my time, but the last was the worst." Mike shuddered, as if suddenly cold. Reid saw his hands grip the edge of the couch, causing his knuckles to turn white. One glance at Mike's eyes told Reid he wasn't there. Cautiously, he reached out and brushed Mike's arm.

"You don't have to do this, Mike." Reid kept his voice calm and steady in a way that, oddly, reminded him of Prentiss. His tone seemed to restore Mike's sense of balance. He shook his head no, protesting Reid's rationale.

"No, it's okay. Where was I?" His face contorted in thought. "Oh yeah, so I came back, hungover and hell-bent on forgetting. I saw a lot of men and women die that third time. Good people who had families, kids, you know?" Reid nodded, meeting Mike's gaze. "Some of the guys used to take coke to stay up during late night rounds. I didn't do it while on tour, but I remembered one of them saying how wonderful it felt. He said it was like he could do everything at once and still function, just on hyper-speed." Mike smiled at some memory he either did not want to share or could not verbalize. Reid shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So, I went to a buddy of mine. This kid I knew in high school, and he got me some coke. Not a lot, but enough to make me realize how well it worked. I could get a lot done, and I didn't have to sleep..."

"No nightmares then?" Reid asked, understanding completely.

"Yeah, at first, it was once. Then, it was a few times. And then," Mike gave a low whistle. "I was fucking crazy all the time." Reid couldn't help it when his mind felt the needle against his arm, the familiar sense of weightlessness, and the longing for more. Just a little more, anything really, to make it all go away.

"It didn't work, though, did it?" Reid asked, keeping his voice low. Mike chuckled bitterly, shaking his head no.

"I blew through some money. Stole some from my parents, pawned some of my sister's jewelry. My family isn't stupid. They figured it out and gave me an ultimatum-get help or get out."

"So you left?" Reid had not sensed the catastrophe yet, and he questioned Mike, knowing there was more.

"Got on a bus that day and went to my ex the next town over. I begged her to take me in, she did, left for work, and I proceeded to get as high as I could, but I couldn't find anything. By the time she came home, I was pretty messed up. You know, paranoid, crying, sweating, shaking. She put me to bed, calmed me down..." Mike trailed off, glancing at the television show. Reid fidgeted again, wondering where this confession was heading and how it could help with his suppressed memories.

"What happened then?" He asked in a composed voice eerily similar to Dr. B's. Mike shrugged, stared at the floor, and Reid looked at the opposite wall when he pawed at his cheeks.

"I stayed with her for a while, but she found out about the drugs. You see, kid, I wasn't entirely truthful with her about why I needed a place to live." Reid couldn't help but feel as though he understood somehow, but could not unearth why.

"She got pretty pissed, we fought, she wanted to kick me out, but..." Mike trailed off again, squirming uncomfortably.

"She was pregnant?" How Reid knew, he couldn't explain, but his intuition spoke for him.

"Damn," Mike faced him with watery eyes. "You must be a good profiler." Reid gave him a small smile.

"I don't think she wanted to tell me like that, but we decided I'd go get help at the VA the next morning..." He took a deep breath before continuing.

"I couldn't sleep that night and somehow convinced myself that I didn't need a kid." Mike's voice was increasing speed. "I didn't need to be responsible for another life when I couldn't take care of my own, so I ran." No longer able to control his emotions, Mike's chocked sobs echoed off the walls. Unsure of what to do, Reid hesitated before reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table, handing a bunch to Mike with shaking fingertips. Mike blew his noise noisily, acknowledging Reid's presence with a stiff nod of his head. Spencer avoided watching Mike's heaving shoulders, staring at the TV as the woman received a new hair cut and had her makeup professionally applied.

"Sorry, kid." Mike spoke just as a commercial for toilet bowl cleaner came onto the screen, and Reid glanced at his splotchy red face that was still damp with salty tears.

"It's okay." Reid kept his voice gentle, like he would when interrogating a traumatized victim. If Mike caught this subtlety, he didn't acknowledge it.

"What happened the when you couldn't sleep?" Reid figured that the absence of tears and sobs made it alright to pry. Mike eyed him for a moment before speaking so quietly that Reid had to strain to hear.

"It was kind of damp out that morning. Maybe it had been raining that night before...I'm not sure." Mike shrugged, rubbing his face with large palms. Reid inhaled, trying to calm the surge of feelings, but it was too late. He was already gone:

_The pavement was soaked, glistening under thick yellow watts of light emanating downwards from the overhead flickering streetlights. The sound of the rain was beautiful, soothing beyond anything Reid had ever felt before. The world pulsated with his heart, slowly swirling in and out with the pattern of his high. His steps felt wobbly, his own body weighed down with drenched clothing, but, God, this was all he ever wanted. The rough wooden bridge under his feet and the swirling rapids below. There was some kind of divine power here, Spencer simply knew it._

"I just walked, and I knew I had to do something. I couldn't be someone's father. Not me-the war veteran turned crack addict." Mike's louder tone brought Reid to his present situation.

"Then what?" Spencer's own voice was a whisper, but his body had begun to recoil from the inside out. What was happening? What was he remembering?

"I walked far, a few miles from the apartment, and there was this river. It wasn't like I wanted to or even thought about it, but I went to the river that's over this large bridge. I can't swim that well either...I mean, I can do most other physical stuff, but the water is so different...I'm not made for it..." Mike's words clashed into one another above Reid's head as he struggled to stay in the present.

_It was raining, he was soaked, but somewhere inside, Reid knew it didn't matter. It felt good to be numb, lost, and alone. He thought of the team then, and he wondered what their faces would be like when they heard. Imagining Morgan's face particularly pained him, but he ignored it. They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly. Underneath the bridge, the water swelled upwards, breaking the surface in groups of white foam. If he wanted, he could be on the other side with one stretch of his leg over the white, paint-chipped railing...Who knew it could be so easy?_

Reid brought himself back to the entertainment room and to the very real sense that he had just remembered something in the form of flashbacks, and, from the way he broke out into a cold sweat, it wasn't good. Glancing at Mike to shift his attention away from the onslaught of memory, Reid noticed his friend's cheeks were red with shame.

"You jumped?" He whispered. Mike didn't answer, but Reid knew it was the truth.

"It wasn't like I planned it," Mike argued, although Reid's tone had not been accusing. "But..."

"The opportunity presented itself?" Reid questioned when the familiar recognition of empathy flowed through his veins. _Why do I know how that feels? _He asked himself.

"I almost drowned. Some early-morning fisherman saved me." Mike shook his head from side to side in disbelief. " At the hospital, they put me on suicide watch, my parents showed up." Mike faced Reid with hardened eyes once more. "They've always looked at me with pride, kid. _Always_," he emphasized. "But their looks were different. I hurt them a lot...I know it too...In the hospital, I begged them for that ultimatum, and" Mike motioned outwards with his hands, "here I am."

"Why the sudden change of heart? You still could of used..." Reid didn't understand Mike's ability to suddenly shift gears from addict to hopeful rehab patient. Although Spencer had been desperate when talking to Hotch, it was not his choice. It was rehab or face the consequences associated with talking to Morgan in a drunken stupor.

"After I saw my parents, my girlfriend came and showed me her ultrasound picture. She went to the doctor that morning, thinking I had left already to go to the VA, and a few hours later got the call that I tried to kill myself..." Mike was silent, and Reid just waited.

"I can't imagine getting a fucking phone call like that." Mike shook his head again in disbelief. For a moment, Reid tried to envision his drunken confession from Morgan's perspective. _God, he must have been so confused and angry with himself. _Reid's brain understood. _He must have felt horrible...responsible..._When his cheeks burned, he dislodged the memory and subsequent thoughts from his mind.

"But that picture..." Mike trailed off, smiling slightly to himself. "I know you're young, kid," Mike shot Reid a sympathetic smile that Reid returned. In a way, Mike reminded him of Morgan, teasing him but making sure he was alright at the same time. "But trust me when I say nothing prepares you for that. There was this living thing- part _my _kid-growing inside her, and I thought it was kind of crazy, but I helped create that, you know?" Reid didn't know, but he made a mental note to ask Hotch about that particular feeling.

"When's she due?" Mike smiled wide this time.

"Four months. We're having a son." Reid wondered if his own father had been this overjoyed and overwhelmed when his mother declared her own pregnancy. He couldn't help but feel detached from Mike's happiness.

"I am curious about one thing, though." Reid began, waiting for Mike to glance his way. "How come the military didn't kick you out? I know they have a drug policy." Mike nodded, as if he expected this question.

"The morning before I came here, I was supposed to pass a piss test, but I went into my commanding officer, explained the situation, requested medical leave, and, thankfully, everything worked out in my favor. A lot of guys aren't so lucky though..." Reid nodded forcefully.

"Thanks for sharing that with me, Mike. I know it wasn't easy." Mike shrugged off Reid's acknowledgment.

"I think it did help... I remembered some things..." Reid did not elaborate, but attempted to fill his voice with appreciation. What Mike had just revealed was difficult, at best, and Reid really did feel for grateful for the confession because he knew it was hard for Mike to discuss. But, if anything, Reid felt even more confused-what had he remembered a few moments prior? Why now? And why did it feel like his recovery was not worth the effort?

"Anything you can piece together just yet?" Mike asked in a soft tone he only reserved for those he truly cared about. Reid recognized the gentleness and ran his hands through his hair, showing a glint of white teeth as an offering of understanding and thanks.

"I'm not sure." Mike nodded, accepting Reid's statement as truth.

"It will come sooner or later, you know that right?" Reid met Mike's eyes. "And when it does, you won't be prepared. There's no way to be ready for any memories of what you did when you were using." The sinking feeling in Reid's stomach told him Mike was correct, however badly he wished he wasn't.

"I'm really good at shoving things aside." He told Mike, who tossed candy into his mouth.

"The problem with that tactic, though," Mike debated. "Is you don't realize how bad it is. It hurts to do that, kid. It hurts more than you can even realize."

"I've done it one way or another throughout my whole life," Reid admitted.

"We all push things away to some degree," Mike agreed. "But you can't run forever. Sooner or later, it all will catch up to you." Reid bit his bottom lip to keep the tears inside. _He's right, _his thoughts told him. Silence came forwards, wrapping around the two men with heavy chains.

"Candy?" Mike offered, extending the bag to Reid, signifying the end of their conversation. Reid responded with an outstretched hand. A new show came onto the television and both men eased into the cushions in silence, watching the lives of others.


	37. Chapter 37

**Hi everyone. I'm back from my travels and I thought I'd post this first part of a long-awaited chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, encouragements, and adds. Happy reading :)**

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_"How many times can I break till I shatter? Over the line, can't define what I'm I feel is the realness that I'm faking, taking my time, but it's time that I'm wasting...I gotta turn this thing around." -OAR "Shattered (Turn the Car Around)"_

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Jennifer Jareau sat in her small sedan, inhaling in through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. This old, habitual pattern-the same one she used before big college soccer games and difficult press conferences-soothed the butterflies in her stomach. Outside the green car, the wind hurled against the steel sides and, in the distance, JJ watched bare tree branches battle with clashing limbs. A few weeks prior, the mountains and farmlands surrounding the parking lot were, no doubt, vibrantly streaked with the golden colors of fall, but, now, the world was barren, raw, and exposed to the elements in a way that JJ could not help but understand. Flipping her long blond hair over her shoulders, the media liaison cut the ignition, procrastinating leaving her car for a few more moments.

During ride to the facility, her thoughts had been accentuated with memories of Spencer. Beautiful edges of the oncoming winter had outlined the surge of emotions in ways that JJ had forgotten existed. His understanding, caring eyes. His eagerness at the Hankel farm, running away before she had a chance to make her protests known. The gentle squeeze of his long fingers against hers after a trying case.

JJ planned on visiting a week prior, but the team caught a case, a particularly nasty one at that, and she hadn't been in the same state for a few days. Now, sitting in her parked car with rapidly diminishing warmth, JJ wondered if too much time had passed. What if Reid was upset with her for not visiting? If anything, she didn't know if one hug could make up for the months of worry and fear. If one touch could signify how sorry she was. After all, this still felt like her fault-no matter how much anyone told her differently.

**About a week prior:**

_Outside the small window, the night expanded in all directions, filling JJ with a sense of infinite loneliness. Across the aisle, Hotch had fallen asleep with an open case file resting against his stomach, and the manila folder now rose and fell in rhythm to his breathing. Behind her, Morgan snored slightly on the bench usually reserved for Reid, headphones blasting music into his ears__. __Gideon sat near Hotch, and he too had his head resting against a travel pillow that was propped against the seat back, legs reaching across the aisle onto the empty row stationed in front of him. Across from JJ, Emily stirred, but JJ noticed that, unlike the other profilers, sleep did not want to visit the dark-haired agent._

_"You want to talk about it?" JJ asked the bloodshot-eyed brunette, watching as her eyes scanned the small cabin for eavesdroppers. When she was sure all the snores coming from the men of the BAU were real, Emily turned her attention back to the media liaison._

_"I've been thinking-"_

_"That's usually a bad thing for any of you profilers," JJ joked. In return, Emily cracked a genuine smile._

_"Good point, but I kind of need an opinion and I wanted to ask you without," Emily eyeballed her surroundings once more. "Being overheard." JJ nodded, leaning forward to hear Emily's low tone. She had to admit, she was a bit curious-what could the very prepared, confident agent need from her? JJ had expected to be asking her opinion on a subject matter-not the other way around. Still, she was somewhat flattered by the prospect and admission of trust. _

_"My mother asked me to fly to Europe for Thanksgiving." Even as she said this, Emily couldn't help it when her face scrunched in dislike, puckering her features as if she had eaten a particularly sour piece of candy._

_"It doesn't take a genius to see you're excited by that idea," JJ teased, garnering another smile from Emily._

_"No, definitely not, but I really don't have a good excuse." Prentiss admitted, wringing her hands together._

_"And you want me to help you think of a good lie?" JJ asked, somewhat taken back. Emily's eye grew wide as she shook her head side to side. Her ponytail swung from left to right when she did so._

_"No...What I wanted...I guess...well..." She trailed off, staring at the floor, and JJ couldn't tell if she was embarrassed, ashamed, or both. Reaching across the small space between them, she squeezed Emily's hand in her own, reassuring her obvious discomfort. For a moment, Prentiss stared at JJ's French manicure before tightening her grasp in response to the gesture of comfort._

_"I was thinking about going to see Reid on Thanksgiving." Emily's words were so rushed that JJ strained to hear them correctly. When she felt the phrase had been properly translated in her mind, she met the dark eyes._

_"And you want me to reassure you that this is ok even though we both know what Hotch said?"Immediately, JJ wished she hadn't stated the latter. Emily withdrew her hands, crossed them across her chest, bit her lip, and turned her face towards the window. Even with her sudden movements, JJ could see her internal battle. It was obvious that Prentiss did not ask for help or reassurance often and the act alone agonizing._

_"Yeah, you're right. It's a stupid idea. I'm still new to the team and Hotch-"_

_"Isn't always right." JJ interrupted, meeting the surprised gaze with her resolute one. In the moment of connection, Emily spoke in a curious, lowered tone._

_"Did you go see him?" _

_"No. I was going to today, but the case..." She broke eye contact, peering at her discarded uncomfortable black heels on the floor between the two women._

_"I'm guessing Garcia gave you the address?" Prentiss queried. JJ nodded._

_"I'm going to go next week," the blond agent scanned the room for a sign that someone was listening, but all three men were in dreamland._

_"Look, I know it's crazy," Prentiss confessed. "Reid and I didn't really get off to a good start, but he wasn't exactly in the right place, you know?" _

_"Yeah, I do."_

_"It's just this feeling I have..." Prentiss met the blue eyes once more and was surprised to see the understanding in the aqua-colored orbs. "It's in my gut. I know what it's like to be stuck in a strange, new place and feel...lost." Something also told JJ that Emily Prentiss usually did not admit to feeling lost._

_"I think he'd love it if you came for Thanksgiving. I'm sure there is extending visiting hours that day." Emily nodded enthusiastically. "I can sneak you some information when I go this Sunday." JJ assured. A look of relief washed over Emily features, creating smoothness where lines had once been. Her lips stayed pursed, however, signaling the remnants of discomfort._

_"Do you think he still hates me?" JJ didn't have time to hide the surprise in her expression._

_"Spence doesn't hate you, Em. He was just angry and took it out on you because you were new and an easy target." Emily sighed, releasing tension into the air. "I know that may be difficult to see now, but, trust me, you and Reid have more in common than you think." There was a silence for a moment, accented by the wheezing of their male counterparts._

_"Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate your help." JJ returned the smile with a wide one of her own. "I'm just worried, you know?" JJ felt a surge of numbness enter her limbs. She knew. God, she did._

_"I completely understand." And when Emily had fallen asleep with her head resting on her balled up sweater, JJ had tried to look through the opaque night sky. If anything, she wanted to believe the stars could help._

**Present Day:**

Lost in thought, JJ didn't realize that she had made it into the building. The rehab's lobby was adorned with Thanksgiving decorations, and JJ stood for a moment, recalling the handmade holiday decorations of her youth. Her mother still had them somewhere, stowed away into an attic corner, but the woman never failed to hang faded construction paper and blocked, large handwriting on the walls when each appropriate holiday emerged. It always slightly embarrassed JJ, but she secretly loved the familiarity of it all. The way everything had changed, yet was still the same.

"Miss, can I help you?" A short, dark-skinned nurse in bright pink scrubs approached JJ, startling her out of her reveries.

"Umm yes." JJ stammered before regaining her voice. She recognized it, oddly, as the same one she used during conferences. "I'm here to see Dr. Spencer Reid." The woman's face broke into a large smile.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled, but I'm afraid I have to search you and your bag first." If she seemed surprised, JJ did not try to let it show as she handed her purse to the woman, following her to the nurse's station in the central hallway.

"Sorry, it's regulation." The nurse explained as latex gloves patted down JJ's well-fitting jeans, searched through her coat pockets, and even traveling briefly over the form fitting blue long-sleeved shirt on JJ's upper half. "We just don't want visitors sneaking drugs or other restricted items to patients." JJ nodded, suppressing the sickness she felt. This _really _was rehab and Reid _really _was an addict.

"Don't worry, dear." The nurse said in a comforting tone when she saw her sad features. She handed JJ back her bag after viewing each pocket, even unfolding her FBI credentials. "He'll be happy and surprised to see you."

"How do you know?" JJ couldn't help the nervous, but relieved, smile that overcame her lips.

"I've been doing this job a long time." The nurse explained. "Long enough to know when someone's anxious, especially a visitor."

"I'm Angela, by the way." The nurse stuck her hand into JJ's barely outstretched one. "I'm sure Spencer will be delighted to see you. Sundays always make him a bit sad, although he'll never admit it." Angela chuckled to herself, shaking her head as if she knew some secret that JJ didn't. Quickening her pace to keep up with Angela's short, fast strides, JJ entered what looked like a sitting room filled with chairs and tables. Some, JJ noticed, were claimed by patients and visiting friends and family. It was already quite noisy even though visiting hours started an hour before JJ arrived.

"Thank you, Angela." JJ did her best to smile genuinely this time, but was surprised when Angela took her hand in her own, soothing her worries with loving strokes that brought tears to her eyes.

"You look after him, you hear?" JJ nodded, understanding the plea wrapped in instruction. "He's a smart kid, who cheats at card games," JJ couldn't help but laugh.

"Spence definitely does," she agreed as the last remnants of laughter left her lips. "How is he?" She asked, feeling simultaneously foolish and ashamed for not knowing the answer. If their roles were reversed, Spencer would know how she was. JJ ran her hand nervously through her hair.

"He's having a hard time. Last week nearly unhinged him." Angela kept her voice soft, but JJ didn't understand why the heavy feeling in her limbs told her that something was wrong. She nodded, meeting Angela's dark look.

"Thank you for taking care of him..." She trailed off, spotting the familiar skewed curls by the window. Reid had not seen her with Angela, as his back was facing the two women. "Our boss told us not to visit, but I couldn't...I had to..." Angela nodded, squeezing JJ's hand once more.

"I understand. He's a great kid, you know?" She asked JJ, who nodded in agreement. "But everyone needs to hear and know how they're wanted and loved."

"He's loved..." JJ whispered more to herself than to Angela.

"Then let him know that." And with another small grasp, Angela hurried back to the nurse's station leaving JJ in a wake of fear and anticipation. How Angela had so accurately described Reid, JJ didn't know, but she was glad that she understood her words all the same.

Working her way around other patients and exuberant visitors, JJ finally reached Spence. She took a moment to watch Reid's slight head tilt, his eyes focused on the empty landscape behind the treatment center's main building. The outside world, however cold and bleak, still looked beautiful with gray skies against fuzzy blue mountains. Clumps of branches created a tangled web of wooden defense, covering what lay within the depths. It reminded the media liaison of her hometown and JJ wondered if Reid hated this place as much as she did the small town she once called home. In her moment of quiet observation, Reid felt her stare, and turned around to face JJ.

"Hey Spence." She kept her voice soft, but Reid's wide, surprised eyes spoke louder than any words could. Before she realized what was happening, Spencer was grabbing her towards his lanky frame. JJ rarely received such deep hugs from anyone-never mind from Reid, who usually was uncomfortable with physical contact.

"What are you doing here?" His eyes were still popping outwards as he pulled JJ at arm's length, taking in the familiar, comforting sight of his colleague. Reid had resigned himself to sitting by the window all day, book in lap (which was currently on the floor from his sudden upward bolt), hating how much he missed everyone at the BAU. He had wanted someone to visit, especially since Melinda's suicide, but he also realized that it was very possible Hotch's orders had been taken to heart. How he knew the unit chief ordered the team not to visit was beyond Reid, but he had.

"I thought you could use some company." JJ linked her arm in his as she spoke. Reid grinned, and JJ couldn't help but be both surprised and relieved by Reid's euphoria and his outward display of these emotions. The young man in front of her looked like he had gained some weight and, if JJ was correct, a healthy amount of lean muscle. His skin was tanner than she had ever seen it be before, and his hair had grown long, shooting out in awkward places that gave him a youthful expression. In her quick observation, JJ had to bite her lip to keep the tears at bay: Reid looked healthy.

"I..." For the first time, it appeared that Spencer Reid had no words. JJ beamed as all traces of nervousness and anxiety melted away.

So, are you gonna show me around or what, Spence?" She joked, nudging Reid's ribs with her elbow.

"Well, my lady." Reid felt like he was channeling Morgan and Garcia's usual dialogue when he spoke. "Your chariot awaits." JJ smiled broadly. To hell with what Hotch ordered. This visit was obviously needed. JJ allowed Reid to glide her from one room to the next, talking with an intensity and speed she was afraid she'd never hear again. It didn't matter that her tour was of a drug rehab facility, or that Reid was a patient, or that it still felt weird to have those two things in the same equation. If it were as easy as a calculation, JJ figured the formula would read: traumatic event + drug addiction = rehab.

To JJ, it seemed silly, even if Reid were the one thinking or explaining such a ridiculous concept. She understood from her job's requirements alone that experiences like trauma and addiction were shades of gray that were muddled and shadowed. There was no way to explain the hows or whys because it never came to one instance or event. It hurt to realize this very obvious epiphany, but JJ kept the smile plastered on her face. It wasn't hard, really. Reid was grinning and stealing happy, lope sided glances at her every chance he could. _Fuck rules, _JJ thought when Reid squeezed her arm, dragging her towards a heavy-set, dark haired man with a booming laugh.

Sometimes, JJ figured, nothing was black and white.


	38. Chapter 38

**Hi all. Sorry about the delay-my life has been really busy lately. You guys are wonderful, though. Thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and adds. I'll never be able to express how much I appreciate everything.  
**

**The following chapter is dedicated to J.L. 05/15/86- 11/19/06.**

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_"For the life of me, I cannot remember what made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise. _

_For the life of me, I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins. We were merely freshmen."_

_-The Verve Pipe "The Freshmen"_

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"So then Garcia hides this box of chocolates in Morgan's desk, complete with a love note and everything! And Morgan bragged for days that he thinks it's from Joanna." JJ exclaimed, watching how lines in Reid's face etched a brilliant smile.

"You mean the girl from the anti-terrorism unit he's always hitting on?" Reid interrupted, sides aching. JJ nodded yes. "She doesn't even like him!" Reid howled, laughing too hard to speak eloquently.

"And Morgan thought it was her. He really did, Spence. I mean, Garcia sent flowers and suggestive notes sprayed with perfume!"

"I'm sure that note wasn't too difficult for her to create," Reid mused.

"Finally, Garcia decides to write a note saying she wants to meet him at this bar. She tells Morgan to wear a pair of jeans that flatter his ass." Reid snorted.

"We all went early, you know, to get good seats." Reid chocked on his own laughter in a way that made JJ never want to stop talking.

"So we watched Morgan come in and swagger over to this corner table." JJ stopped to contain her giggles before continuing. "You should have seen his face when Garcia walked up to him with a rose. I believe her words were something like: 'You take my candy and favorite pen again and I'll make your life a living hell.'"

"I would have paid to see the look on his face when he realized it was Garcia the whole time." Reid admitted, feeling a twinge of sadness he was not there to help with the elaborate prank.

"Trust me, we have pictures." JJ grinned, reaching into her purse for the Polaroids. She gave Reid one of Garcia handing Morgan a single rose with a large note that said "Gotcha!" The media liaison watched as the young agent's smile turned into a semblance of sadness.

"Spence?" JJ reached for his arm, brushing it with light fingertips. Sighing, Reid handed the picture back to her, hating the way even a photograph could fill him with homesickness for his colleagues and former life, as well as the bitter desire and craving for Dilaudid.

"How is everyone, JJ? Are you guys ok?" JJ knew it was typical of Reid to ask about others when they should be asking about his welfare, but JJ saw the desperation in his eyes. It was only second to the look Hotch had when he called his family after dealing with difficult situations and unsubs. He _needed _to know.

"Everyone's okay. We've had some rough cases, but nothing we can't handle." Spencer nodded, glancing at the floor. The common room was less crowded then before, as visiting hours were drawing to a close. Reid had paraded JJ around the building, showing her his room, introducing her to the other nurses, and even to Dr. B, who was sometimes there as an extra supervisor on Sundays. JJ had listened to Reid's brief explanations of his running routes, his roommate's mutual love of reading, and she had laughed with Mike and Tony as they described and lovingly imitated Reid's uncanny knack for farming.

"You know, Spence," JJ began in a soft voice. "You've asked me about how I'm doing and how the team's doing, but you haven't told me how _you _are." JJ watched Reid turn away from her, fixating his gaze out the large windows where a multicolored sunset was fading into the dullness of oncoming night. The whole time JJ had been visiting Reid had to stop himself from asking about the team. Still, the burning desire to know, to understand that everyone was ok, filled him with a yearning and a simultaneous urge for drugs-anything that would allow him to escape the fact that Melinda had joined Tobias in his nightmares.

"I'm alright." He shrugged with heaviness in his words.

"Please don't lie to me." Her voice wasn't accusing, although Reid figured she had every right to be. She was correct-things weren't okay. He wasn't alright. Ever since Melinda's death, Reid had been overcome with onslaught of memories that floated to the surface every time he wasn't busy. His sleeping had become more sporadic than ever, and the nightly nurses were beginning to refuse his requests to play cards, allowing him one game before sending him back to bed.

"Spence." JJ reached for him and although Reid didn't want to feel her touch, he allowed his hands to stay underneath hers. "Talk to me." He sighed and pulled away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep the tears inside.

"There was a patient here, and I guess you can say we became friends." JJ nodded, wringing her hands and watching Reid fastidiously avoid her steadfast gaze.

"She killed herself last week...She hanged herself, JJ, and I helped get her down, but it was too late." Reid did not elaborate or make any response that he saw JJ's blue orbs enlarge to immense proportions.

"And the thing is," Reid met JJ's eyes this time, "All these memories are coming back to me now. It's like her death is making me remember all these things I forgot or pushed away, and I don't know what to do with them." Spencer's voice broke, wavering with emotion, and he bit his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to stay focused.

"What are you remembering?" JJ kept her voice soft and low, and Reid couldn't help the few tears the streaked down his cheeks.

"The things I did when I..." Reid fidgeting, swiping at his cheeks and smudging saltiness across them. "When I was high." There. He had said it and the world was still standing. JJ sighed, debating what to say and how to say it.

"I know we're taught to push our emotions away, Spence." She began with a tone that eased Reid's discomfort substantially. How she was able to do so with just a simple infliction was beyond him, but JJ was one of the few who could do so. "But you can't do that with everything. You can't pretend that Georgia and Tobias didn't happen." JJ desperately wanted to let her emotions take control, but she knew she couldn't-not right now. Reid looked so lost, young, and sad. For all her time knowing him, JJ couldn't recall a time when he appeared this distraught, even after Hankel.

"What if I don't like what I remember?" His voice cracked when Reid faced JJ, who was surprised by the tears. She hadn't noticed he was crying just moments earlier and the silence stirred something in her. Whether it was motherly or concerned, she couldn't decipher the difference.

"We all have these parts of us that we've stowed away and we all carry experiences and our reactions to them with us, even if we'd rather not remember, but if recalling those is the difference between you getting better or you..." JJ swallowed deeply before continuing. "Or you relapsing, then you need to remember, Spence." Air escaped Reid's parted lips in spurts, and he took a breath that was soon interrupted by hiccuped sobs. Reid couldn't not discern what he hated more: The tears stinging his cheeks, the way his body shock, or his inability to control it all.

"I need you to do something for me, JJ." He instructed while taking the tissue she handed him. Without realizing it, JJ had started tracing small circles on Spencer's back. It felt oddly comforting and the rhythm soothed him, allowing Reid to regain some control over his wildly oscillating emotions.

"Anything." JJ kept her voice firm, although she wanted to cry with Spencer. She had no idea what he was thinking, which wasn't unusual, but, God, she felt the waves of pain radiating off his body. Something began to unravel inside her. When the stinging pierced her stomach, she understood it to be guilt.

"I need you to tell me if I did anything to you after Georgia. I need help remembering..." Reid balled the tissue tightly in his fist, watching as his knuckles turned snow white. JJ's hand ceased rubbing patterns on his spine, stopping in a "c" motion.

"Spence, I don't-"

"Please, JJ." Water was spilling down his face again and, when Reid met JJ's eyes, he was not surprised to see tears in her own. Sighing, she glanced downwards, and looked upwards a minute later with remarkable composure.

"You were pretty irritable-"

"I know that, especially to Emily." Reid winced. regretting his past actions.

"You asked me to-"

"You know that's not what I meant." JJ held her breath before releasing it slowly. She had tried to play dumb, which never worked with Reid. She had been afraid he'd ask about his drug-induced behavior. In fact, she had recalled that night months prior as she drove earlier that morning past farms and tall trees. Maybe, JJ had debated, she had imagined it all. If Reid didn't remember, maybe it hadn't happened, but, now, with his pressing need to recall, JJ understood she'd have to break the silence by revealing the past. She hoped that he'd forgive her for not helping him then.

She hoped she'd forgive herself.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Reid nodded no, hating the way her face broke into recognition at his request. _What did you do? _He shouted at himself.

"You can't..." JJ stopped when the tears slide down her cheeks. To her surprise, Spence reached for her hand, squeezing it in his.

"I'd never blame you for Hankel or anything I did afterward." He spoke with sincerity, and JJ didn't understand how he knew the words before she said them. _Stupid profilers, _she thought, slightly bitter and somewhat relieved. Meeting the hazel mixture, JJ waited for his attention, and then let the past speak for her as the last bits of light slid behind the mountain peaks.

_**About 3.5 Months Prior**_

_"I'll be there in a minute!" Whoever was at the front door was impatiently banging heavy fits against the wood. Hurrying through her home while tying a terry cloth light pink bathrobe around her waist, JJ felt a slight twinge of fear. Her gun in her bathrobe pocket reassured her. Three A.M. granted few visitors, and something told JJ that whoever or whatever was on the other side of the door was desperate in one way or another. If Hotch knew she had her gun out, he'd call her paranoid, but JJ was pretty sure both Emily and Garcia would call it safe._

_"Alright, chill out!" Her tone was harsh when she unhinged the locks, yanking the door open with her right hand, her left deep within the bathrobe pocket curled around the cool metal. When the cold, dewy night air seeped inwards and the familiar hazel eyes greeted her, JJ almost shot the man on her doorstop in surprise._

_"Reid?" He swayed slightly, inching closer to her. The strong aroma of whiskey and cigarettes wafted towards her, causing JJ to almost reel back not in disgust, but shock._

_"What are you doing here? Are you okay?" She grabbed Reid as he stumbled forwards once again, noticing how his clothes were wet. Underneath his long-sleeved collared shirt and khakis, Reid's body was shaking. It had to be around 45 degrees and his threadbare clothing provided little warmth from the light rain that had fallen moments prior._

_"I..." He glanced around the interior of JJ's living room without registering what he was actually seeing. "I just missed you." Reid shrugged bony shoulders upwards. Sighing, JJ ran her hands through her hair. When Reid rocked unsteadily on his feet again, JJ knew he was way too plastered to know what he was actually doing._

_"You're supposed to be on medical leave, Reid." She told him, shifting blankets aside and helping him onto the plush couch that swallowed him in a soft fortress of comfort. In any other situation, JJ would have laughed at how absurd he looked among the overstuffed cushions, but Reid's head was nodding downwards. He was barely conscious. Personally, JJ wouldn't call the time after the Hankel case "medical leave." More accurately, she figured, it was "make-sure-Reid's-mentally-okay-even-though-everyone-knows-he'll-purposefully-say-he-is-when-he's-not-so-he-can-come-back-to-work -early" leave._

_"I got bored." Reid shut his eyes, allowing the room to continue its swirling upheavals and daring downfalls behind closed lids. JJ stood for a moment, trying to reason with the anger and concern mingling into one inside of her. What the hell was happening? How much did Spence drink? And what else was surging through his veins? His behavior was way too erratic for just alcohol. Ignoring her burning curiosity and subsequent feelings of self blame, JJ took pity on her shivering colleague, trying to pull off his sneakers so she could get him under a warm fleece blanket. Reid tried to see what she was doing, almost falling forward and hitting his head on the coffee table._

_"I'm sorry, JJ." He mumbled when she placed him back onto the sofa. "I didn't mean to do it."_

_"Do what?" JJ questioned, concentrating on the thin laces. Leave it to Reid to double-knot his shoelaces._

_"I tried not to..." He almost fell asleep then, but something told him to keep talking. "I meant to tell her no, but she had it, and it made it better, like he said it would..."_

_"Spence." Her voice was agitated, but not angry. It felt like he was a young child that she loved, but was scolding for his wrongdoings all the same. Nimble fingers untied his laces, and Reid didn't have the voice to tell her to stop._

_"Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" She kept her voice motherly, and Reid wanted to scream about the emptiness controlling his life._

_"I'm fine, JJ." He was angry, eyes shooting open with too much force. "Tobias didn't make me lose my mind, you know." Surprised, JJ crossed her arms over her chest and stopped pulling at Reid's converse sneakers._

_"I never said he did." She met his swimming stare with a resolute one, and Reid felt himself break into pieces. She had his shoes off and was now yanking his messenger bag over his head, placing it on the floor. He prayed she wouldn't look inside. The release of weight felt odd and misplaced, and Reid closed his eyes once more._

_"Spence," the cushion next to him sunk with JJ's weight. "Please let me in." This was not what he expected. Actually, Reid did not have a plan when the bar closed and he stumbled on the familiar roads to JJ's home. All he knew was he wanted some kind of comfort, some resemblance of understanding, and JJ had been on Hankel's farm with him before things went catastrophically and irreversibly wrong. Somehow, that had seemed like enough, but, now, with emotions rising in large waves, Spencer Reid couldn't do anything but suck in air, attempting to control the memories that overcame his senses._

_JJ spoke again, but all Reid heard was Tobias's voice: "There's only one shot in that gun, boy." JJ saw Reid's face pale, his eyes darted open, and she hesitated. What was going on?_

_"I think I'm going to be sick." He told her and, with lightning speed, she grabbed a garbage receptacle, rubbing his back when he released one too many drinks into the plastic bin. How long or much he let go, Reid wasn't sure, but he ended up crunched into a ball on her too short couch, head in JJ's lap as she twisted her fingers lightly around his curly hair. His face was wet, his nose running, but he knew he was safe here. He knew that the eventual Dilaudid withdrawals would be hidden by his drunken disguise. He also knew JJ didn't understand and he couldn't find a way to tell her that he was sinking so fast that there was nothing to grab onto but handfuls of air._

_"I'm sorry," he mumbled again, albeit more lucid this time. JJ bit her bottom lip, toying with the ends of his fine, soft hair. He was acting like a child now, and JJ couldn't help her instincts that screamed nothing was alright. Something was deeply wrong with Spencer._

_"Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong." She told him, keeping her voice even. On her lap, Reid's head moved lightly from side to side in disagreement._

_"I sent her away. I'm a sinner, JJ." His voice broke, and JJ felt the outlines of hot tears fall onto her bathrobe. "She needed me and I couldn't do anything. I failed her..." Whoever Reid was discussing, was someone close to him, and JJ didn't know what to do other than to wait. She kept rubbing his back, attempting to calm the mess that was Spencer Reid._

_"Will you forgive me?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. JJ didn't answer, but she found when she did speak, it didn't matter-Spencer was asleep._

_"You can stay here tonight, okay?" She told him softly, slipping out from underneath Spencer's heavy head and replacing the support her lap had previously supplied with a pillow. JJ gently placed a blanket over the young agent, watching as it rose and fell with his breathing. Without understanding why, she bent down, pushing the hair away from his damp forehead, and placed a soft, protective kiss on his hot skin._

_"I'm so sorry." She told the sleeping form before disappearing into the darkness once more._

**Present Day:**

"I remember..." Reid groaned, placing his head in his hands. His hot, shamed cheeks blazed against his cool fingertips. JJ exhaled but didn't speak, allowing Spencer to regain his composure. When he lifted his head upwards, she continued.

"When I woke up the next morning, you were gone. I...I didn't know what to do, but I thought you were drunk and upset..." JJ admitted, hating how she knew something was wrong and that she hadn't done anything to help the situation.

"It was still morning when I left." Reid confessed, recalling how cool the air had felt against the dry sweat lining his hairline. On his way home, he had stopped at a coffee shop, acquiring a cup of potent black liquid. It hadn't eased his rocketing stomach, however, and the morning's first light found him bent between rows of bushes in the park, releasing a night's worth of drinking and drugs. When he returned to his apartment, the college-aged neighbor had supplied him with a few Valiums, which Reid had eagerly sucked down before falling, exhausted, into his own bed. The night before was a haze: the loud dance club, the too many whiskey sours, and the quick bathroom injection of Dilaudid that some girl with revealing clothing had let him share with her in exchange for a dancing partner. Reid remembered how he wanted to escape to be alone with the high, but they had held each other upwards on the dance floor, swaying to syncopated beats. When he finally escaped, it had been JJ's home-not his-that he had found himself standing outside of, wondering in the dark if she could see his pain without him actually saying it.

"I'm so sorry, JJ." Reid's eyes said his apology before he did, but JJ knew it was sincere all the same. She nodded, squeezing his hand that had somehow found hers again.

"You were really hurting, Spence, and I didn't do anything to help."

"It's not your fault. None of it." JJ knew he meant Tobias and the whole fiasco, but she found it hurt to accept that as truth. Not with Reid in rehab and crying silently next to her. It didn't seem right or fair, like the universe was playing some sick joke on someone who had experienced too much pain already.

"I'm not blaming you, JJ." Reid told her, his voice suddenly composed, his eyes deadpan and very similar to Hotch's. "Tobias gave me the drugs, but I continued." It was the first time he had said this openly, although not the first time he had thought it, and Reid felt something shift in him. The world felt a bit lighter than it had moments before.

"I've missed you." JJ let out a shaky smile, shoving bits of hair behind her ears. Reid smiled back.

"I missed you too, Spence." In their moment of silent understanding, JJ saw Reid's struggle against a backdrop of a million other situations that could have been much worse, but hadn't been. If they had, somehow, made it through the very worst humanity and life had to offer, then, quite possibly, drug addiction wouldn't derail either one of them. Reid's problem, although a lifelong battle, was exactly that-a problem. It wasn't the end of his world and, with Spence's familiar, comforting presence fidgeting in the seat next to her, JJ realized it wouldn't destroy her too. Guilt was a powerful emotion, but JJ always valued her ability to be stronger than expected. If Reid could tackle an addiction and its accompanying rehab stint, then she could confront her feelings of inadequacy. After all, JJ realized, how would she learn and evolve without the struggle?

The intercom squawked to life, causing the two agents to jump at its static declaration of the end of visiting hours. JJ locked eyes with Spencer, and they wordlessly began the walk to JJ's car.

It was cold outside and, momentarily, JJ closed her eyes, reflecting how way the pavement felt reassuring under her shoes. The wind blew her hair backwards, brushing it away from her shoulders as gently as if she had done the motion herself. Reid's footsteps fell in step with her own, and JJ released the air in her lungs. It felt good to be alive.

"I'm really glad you came...I..." Reid trailed off when they arrived at JJ's car, shoving his hands deep in his jean pockets. JJ watched the wind tangle some of his long hair. She understood his unspoken words just as much as she acknowledged that Reid's addiction ran much deeper than the instance in Georgia.

"I'm proud of you, Spence." Her voice was strong, and Reid looked upwards, meeting her eyes with his own.

"I'm proud of you too, JJ."

They stood for a moment on opposite sides of an invisible barrier. Reid knew JJ could leave and had the choice on which roads she had to drive. She could take the interstate or the winding, darkened mountain roads that would soon be lit by an infinite number of stars. He, however, had no choice but to turn around and to attend nightly group. Tomorrow morning, JJ would wake in the comfort of her own bed, driving to work on familiar roads, and would sit in her office in the BAU, choosing the next atrocity. Spencer would be woken in a room he shared, would farm, and would bounce from group to group. He understood that the rest of his life would not be this routine, but he longed for his old life. He wanted to team, their presence, and he wanted to be useful again.

"You work hard, alright?" JJ instructed, leaning in and kissing the side of Reid's cheek. This display of affection caught him by surprise, and his fingers traveled upwards, lingering in the spot for a moment.

"Tell everyone-"

"I will." JJ interrupted and this time it was Spencer who reached forward, encasing JJ in a warm, quick hug. With a lingering glance, she lowered herself into her car, watching her colleague for a moment more before turning back to the road that led to the rest of the world.


	39. Chapter 39

**Hi everyone. I was having a hard time deciding when to post this chapter (before or after Thanksgiving, after reaching 200 reviews, etc) and I decided that you guys are awesome readers and reviewers, so I would post the newest chapter sooner rather than later. However, it's a bit of a filler chapter, but I hope it's welcomed all the same.**

**Happy (almost) Thanksgiving! :)  
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_"And I'll carry you all the way when you say you're fine, but you're still young and out of line. When all I need's to turn around to make it last, to make it count. I ain't gonna make the same mistakes...I don't want to be alone."-Augustana "Sweet and Low"_

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From her station by the window, nurse Angela observed the young doctor as he hugged his friend, exchanging a few words before he helped her into her car and watched it disappear down the winding path leading away from the rehab facility. Angela would never openly admit this, but Spencer Reid was her favorite patient. Never mind that the nurses weren't supposed to have favorites and that he robbed her blind of candy during their poker games, but there was something special about him. He was flawed, as most humans are, but behind the wall of intelligence and youthful confusion, he was genuinely a good person. Every time she looked at Spencer's delicate, yet strong, features, Angela couldn't help but think of the child she had lost so many years prior. Back then, she was just a kid herself.

As she surveyed his long strides towards the main building, Angela also knew it was something else that made her identify with Spencer Reid. On some level, she understood all the patients. After all, she had been one too, wondering if the injections she hid between her toes and in the folds of her elbows would be enough to make it through the day. She had lived a hard life then, and it wasn't until a chance meeting with Dr. B, who had just started practicing, that Angela really turned her world around. He talked to her, paid for her rehab, and saw her for no charge, although Angela supplied him with an endless amount of baked goods in return. Unlike her toothless, bitter, dying, disabled mother, Dr. B had not laughed when Angela, who only had GED, told Dr. B she always dreamed about becoming a nurse. Instead, he had supplied her with encouragement, support, and community college brochures. Even when she was sure the classes were too difficult or the clinical too overwhelming, he had reminded her that if she beat addiction, she could certainly pass an exam or practicum. And she had, earning her nursing license, and saying a tearful goodbye to begin working in a large urban hospital the next state over. Occasionally, she wrote letters, then emails, sending photographs and Christmas cards, and even an invitation to her wedding. It wasn't a surprise when he called her years later, asking if she'd like a job in the rehab facility he was developing. Angela hadn't even second guessed the decision, moving her then teenage son and surprised, but accepting husband, back to where everything began.

Now, observing a young man in the throes of recovery return dejectedly to what he was sure to view as a prison of some sorts, Angela could not help how her heart extended towards him.

Reid couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over him as JJ's car became a speck in the distance. It was a weird feeling, one that seeped outwards from the very center of his chest, and Spencer wondered if, when he finally returned to the BAU, he'd be able to get enough of the team. At the moment, he wanted to sit in Morgan's living room and watch a football game, even if he'd never really understand it. Reid wanted to feel Clooney inch closer and closer to him until, despite Reid's subtle movements away and what his teammates had dubbed as "The Reid Effect," Clooney's head rested in his lap and Reid scratched absentmindedly behind the dog's ears. Spencer longed for Garcia's cheerful optimism, and he'd almost give anything to hear Gideon and Hotch tell remakes of their glory days. Reid even wanted to see Prentiss, especially because he felt as though he owed her an apology for all the horrible things he had said to her. If it had been up to Reid, he would have begged JJ to stay just one more hour.

If it were up to him, Spencer figured, he'd never have let them go at all.

"Dr. Reid?" Spencer heard Angela call. He spun on his heels to face her.

"I want a rematch tonight." A slight grin danced on her lips. "I brought the good stuff this time."

"You're joking, right?" Spencer implored, unsure of his luck. JJ visiting and Angel's promise all in one day? It seemed too good to be true. Reid realized he must have looked shocked when Angela chuckled.

"Chocolate covered espresso beans. You in?" She asked.

"Are you kidding?" Reid didn't hesitate. "Of course I am!" Angela's booming laugh filled the hallway leading to the nurse's station.

"Well, bring your game face." A magnificently bright smile etched onto his young face.

"You seem to forget I'm from Las Vegas." He reminded. She smiled, walking in step next to him on the way to the dining hall.

"And you forget age over beauty." She joked. He laughed slightly, standing under the archway of the noisy cafeteria. Reid smiled, then hesitated, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Do you think she only came because she felt bad?" Angela saw the swirl of emotion's in his eyes and she couldn't help but feel the pity that surged through her veins. This was why she wasn't supposed to have favorites, but that boy could rival a puppy with those large, hazel eyes.

"Do you think that's true?" If Dr. B heard, Angela figured he'd probably give her a prize for her deflective question, but she wasn't sure it was the right thing to say because the young agent bit his lip and his eyes scanned the room before they fell on the tops of his sneakers.

"I don't know. I mean, well..." Reid sighed. He wanted to believe JJ came because she missed him, but something was nagging him at the most internal level of helplessness. At this moment, vulnerable and ashamed while talking to nurse Angela, Spencer wanted Dilaudid for the sheer reason he felt exposed. Still, the craving pulsated plangent thumps through his blood: inhale, exhale. That was all it was now-a physical desire that planted seeds deep into his subconscious.

"Melinda, before she died," he explained. "Told me that my team would come out of guilt. You know, for not helping me sooner..." The tears Reid had shed earlier came back, and, to keep them at bay, he bit his lip so hard that he recognized the familiar taste of metal.

"Now you listen to me, you hear?" Surprised by Angela's hard tone, Reid's head shot upwards and his tears disappeared. "Whatever Melinda said isn't important. She was _sick_, Spencer. You know that just as well as I do." Reid wanted to sigh in defeat, but Angela's tone did not invite rebuttal. Instead, he held her gaze and tried to remove the image of Hotch's deadpan stare from his memory.

"What matters," Angela smiled softly at him for a moment. "Is what _you _feel and what _you _think. What matters," Angela reached out and tapped the left side of Reid's chest, "is what's in here."

Suddenly, it all made sense. The cravings would never disappear and, quite possibly, neither would Reid's overwhelming thoughts, emotions, and anxiety, but what mattered, what Angela had so simply clarified, was how Reid needed to believe in himself and his own assertions. If not, he'd be forever stuck between parallel worlds where he was teetering off one ledge or another. He'd always be an addict. Until the day he took his last breath, the addiction would lurk in his veins, spilling out in waves of crimson red at times and, during others, it would simply pulsate as a silent rhythm into the spaces of everyday life.

Reid nodded, but knew that he did not have to say thank you. There would be time for that later. Angela smiled again before waving her hands towards the cafeteria.

"Go eat. You're still too skinny." Reid flashed her a grin he usually saved for Morgan or Prentiss when he knew his tangents were annoying them. It was the same one he shot as an appeasement at Hotch when his little chemistry experiments failed and sent most of the agents in the bullpen ducking for cover. In fact, Reid was sure it was the same set of pearly whites he used to give his own mother when she said some flippant remark or referenced some book that only a select few would know.

"Dr. Reid?" Angela said before he went too far into the chaos only the sounds of dinner could create. He stopped, turning towards her once more.

"Your team was ordered not to visit because they understand and value this as your journey." He nodded, as if he had some inkling, shoving hands deep into the pockets of his jeans again. It was a gesture he did when he was unsure.

"I know. My boss definitely would say something like that." Angela nodded, evaluating her thoughts before speaking.

"And I think the young lady who visited didn't think twice about bending the rules for you. They haven't forgotten, Spencer, but they're just as scared as you are." And the dawning of understanding was more than Angela could bare to see.

"You're right." He admitted. "Thanks, I needed that." With another, Spencer turned, heading towards the crowd, head high and poised for what came next.


	40. Chapter 40

**I think I may have been the only person who thought that last chapter was a filler, but, for real this time, this next chapter is a filler. Sorry it took so long to post this update. I was having a hard time finding the right lyrics... I'll be adding a more substantial chapter this weekend.  
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**As always, you guys are awesome. Thank you for all the alerts/adds, reviews, and messages. The support and encouragement has kept me going. :)**

**By the way, eat your veggies! All the nutritional information I wrote comes from some basic knowledge and a quick fact check. Actually, I really like all vegetables, but I had to sacrifice a few in the name of fiction...**

**Enjoy! :)**

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"_Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters" -Dave Matthews Band, "Under the Table and Dreaming"_

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"Seriously?" Reid asked in disbelief while shoving a spoon full of orange Jello into his mouth. On the tray in front of him, was a half-eaten meatball sub accented by a side of broccoli, cauliflower, and a heaping pile of Jello By now, the lunch ladies knew Reid's liking towards the wobbly substance and always gave him an extra scoop.

"Yeah. There's a bulletin on the community board. We're having a talent show." Mike explained.

"More like a freak show." Tony grumbled. Reid chuckled along with Mike. Around the three men, the sounds of the lunchtime rush filled their ears. Now that it was cold outside, most patients lingered in the cafeteria long after finishing their meals.

"Well, I'm going to perform." Reid and Tony exchanged a look before Tony spoke.

"You do know there won't be any IEDs to find on the stage, right?" Mike pretended to wipe his mouth with his paper napkin, extended his middle finger upwards as he brushed the corners of his lips.

"I do have a talent, you know." Mike told the two men. Reid raised his eyebrows.

"Besides finding explosives?" Tony teased. Mike placed a piece of cauliflower in his spoon, pulled it backwards into a taunt position, and released it. The vegetable hit Tony's forehead before ricocheting onto the table.

"Really guys," Mike explained. "I'm talented." Tony chuckled, brushing stray white seeds off his pants onto the floor.

"I think the only way who's talented at this table is Spenceropedia over here." From his sarcastic tone, Reid understood Tony was teasing and not insulting his IQ and freakishly large knowledge of statistical data.

"Dude that's not a talent." Mike said, giving Reid a look that he understood as joking. "He's actually an android." Tony laughed heartily, his sides bobbing up and down.

"Alright then, what are you gonna do then, GI Mike?" Ever since Mike had announced in group a few weeks prior that his rehab stay was almost complete, Tony had taken to calling him "GI Mike." When questioned about this nickname, Tony told everyone that he'd have to get used to it because he would be going back into the service. Mike was so amused by this he didn't bother to tell Tony that his ranking far exceeded a private.

"What is it?" Reid asked. He was genuinely curious.

"That," Mike declared while gulping the last drops of milk out of the carton, "is a surprise." Tony rolled his eyes.

"He's totally talentless, kid." Tony told Reid, who smiled at the familiar banter.

"Oh yeah, Tony." Mike challenged. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a few tricks up these old sleeves." Tony joked. Mike snorted and Reid grinned widely. With Mike discharging soon, Spencer knew he'd miss their dialogue. It felt like he was listening to Morgan and Garcia minus the pet names, declarations of love, and sexual innuendos, although even those were sometimes present because both Mike and Tony had a fondness for crude humor.

"Those tricks better not involve seeing your fat, hairy ass." Because of Mike's remark, Reid almost spit out his seltzer water, and, with great concentration, he swallowed the carbonated liquid and wiped the bit that had dribbled onto his chin.

"No need. I'm going for the full Monty!" Tony explained, shaking his hips seductively in Mike's direction. Mike let out a booming laugh that caused a few patients sitting nearby to jump at the sound.

"How about you, kid?" Tony nudged Reid's arm, causing some of the Jello to wobble off onto the table. Apparently, trying to eat and drink with Tony and Mike was impossible.

"I may or may not know an array of magic tricks..." He hinted while trying to capture some the escaped Jello into a napkin.

"That's good," Mike began. "I was worried you were going to go up there and recite Star Trek episodes."

"I thought he'd go for statistics. You know, explaining how we're all going to relapse and die or something like that." Tony offered.

"What's wrong with that?" Reid asked, eyes widening. "That's actually a really good idea." This time, Mike and Tony met eyes before dissolving into fits of laughter. Reid couldn't help it when he joined them. They weren't the members of the BAU, but Reid found he really enjoyed their company. Since JJ's visit, Reid had felt a new sense of confidence. He had been reprimanded for his nightly excursion with Melinda, but, each day she was becoming more and more a part of the past. What mattered, Reid realized, was his place in the here and now. He was an addict who still had lot of work to do.

"So, can you make people disappear?" Mike asked. Reid swallowed a spoonful of Jello.

"If you can, kid, how about you start with the freakin' lunch lady who gives me extra veggies?" Tony interjected before Reid could answer. Mike eyed the plethora of untouched broccoli and cauliflower on Tony's tray.

"Maybe," he began and Reid grinned again in anticipation of Mike's remarks. "She wants you to eat healthier." Tony snorted in feigned disgust.

"This shit is a tree. People _are not_ supposed to eat trees!" He stabbed a large piece of limp broccoli with his fork and hoisted it into the air with a clutched fist. The broccoli drooped to one side. Reid had to admit, it didn't look appetizing. He hadn't even touched his own pile of "trees."

"It has a lot of nutrients in it, Tony." Mike explained in a mock motherly voice. Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah, GI Mike. What, exactly, is in this that would make me want to eat this twig?" Seeing Reid's moving lips begin to form a response, Tony turned to instruct Spencer.

"Sorry, kid. Don't help him. Let's see if he knows."

"Do you even know?" Reid countered before he could stop himself. Tony stared at Reid again.

"That's not the point." He emphasized. "I'm not giving anyone a lecture on healthy eating." He shifted his weight so he was facing an amused Mike.

"So, Mikey boy. What's in this?" Tony thrust the deflated broccoli in Mike's direction and a few green beads wilted onto the table. Reid really couldn't blame Tony for not eating the tasteless mush.

"Well," Mike's eyes darted to Reid, who secretly mouthed the answers to him. Thankfully, Tony had no seen this quick exchange of information.

"Calcium, Iron, and Potassium, among other things." Reid smiled. Clearly, Mike had improvised the last part because he had not understood his lip-synced "Magnesium." Although there were more minerals and vitamins present in the vegetable, Mike had said enough to appease Tony, who sighed dejectedly at his tray.

"Fine, but I still think it tastes like shit."

"Sorry, Mike, but I agree with Tony. It's not very good." Reid poked the broccoli and it shifted only slightly.

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan either." Mike revealed and Tony's head shot upwards.

"Seriously? You're an ass!"

"Anyway," Mike said, ignoring Tony and turning to address Reid with a smug smile. "Can you make anyone disappear. You know, like Tony." On his left, Reid heard Tony mumble a few choice words at Mike in a playful tone.

"Sorry, my magic secrets cannot be revealed."

"Too bad, Mike. Looks like you're going to have to do diaper duty after all." Tony said while Mike mocked sadness.

"The trick is to hold the ankles together." Tony demonstrated an ankle hold with the ends of his plastic fork and knife. With Mike's girlfriend due in a couple months, almost all the patients and staff (parents or not) had taken to giving Mike unsolicited parenting advice. Reid had preferred to stay clear of the discussion, seeing as how his upbringing had been rather unorthodox. Who was he to know anything about normal parenting?

"I'll find more than IEDs in there..." Mike mumbled, causing Tony and Reid to chuckle.

"You pick a name yet?" Reid queried. Mike shrugged.

"We still have about a month or two left, so I think we're going to talk about that more when I get out of here." Reid didn't fail to notice the grin etched on his friend's face.

"You should name him after me and the kid." Tony gave Reid a nudge. "That way, you'll never forget us." Mike laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You think I'd forget the hairiest man and smartest man I've ever met?" Mike joked. "Trust me, you guys are burned into memory." Reid didn't know how to explain that almost everything in his life was stored in his brain, available to be recalled at a moment's notice.

"Good." Tony said. "Now we just have to make sure we can get a recording of you acting like an idiot at the talent show. That way, we can show it to your kid later." This time, Mike threw his biscuit, which Reid surprisingly caught, taking a large bite out of its side.

"What?" He asked through a mouthful of crumbs when Tony and Mike gave him surprised looks. Tony shook his head, clearly amused. Mike grinned.

"I'm gonna miss you, kid."

And Reid was thankful he was eating so he did not have to find the way to say he would too.


	41. Chapter 41

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and kind words. I cannot describe how lucky I feel to have such awesome fanfic readers and reviewers. Happy reading! :)**

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_"If it's a water landing, then it's a water landing. And it's coming inside."-Third Eye Blind, "Water Landing"_

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The fading day cast long bars of light across Agent's Hotchner's orderly office, and he took a rare moment to watch the rays reach through the window and extend to each part of his life: the framed law degrees hanging on the wall, a smiling picture of Haley and Jack, the massive pile of case files, and an old, faded, but still pristine, American flag. On the radio that morning as he drove on familiar roads to the BAU, the weather forecast had hinted at the possibility of snowfall in the mountains. Instinctively, Hotch had thought of Reid and, periodically through his day, he had checked the forecast. Now, at the end of the day, the weathermen were predicting frost but little else, even for the higher altitudes.

For some reason, this had disappointed him. Why, Hotch thought, he wanted Reid to see snow was beyond him, but he had.

The short, loud cell phone shrills echoed upwards from the holder clipped to his waist. When Hotch glanced at the cell's screen, he saw a blocked number. His team was finishing their paperwork in the bullpen. There was no chance a telemarketer had his work phone number, but there was the chance a few high-ranking FBI and CIA officials did. Sighing in anticipation of the calamity that would destroy his brief moment of serenity, Aaron clicked the red send button, placing the phone to his right ear while saying "Agent Hotchner" into the receiver.

"Hey Hotch."

If anyone had been in his office and seen the smile that plastered itself again his face, they would have assumed Jack or Haley was on the other end of the phone line-not the youngest member of the BAU.

"Reid, how are you?" He tried to keep his voice professional, but Hotch was sure Spencer could hear the surprise and happiness etched between the words of his composed greeting.

"I'm well, actually. I'm doing really well." Hotch closed his eyes when a wetness pooled at his lenses. He imagine the rehab's phone area and Reid in a small booth sitting on a wooden bench. No doubt, other patients had carved their initials, names, and messages into its surface. About now, Reid's long fingers, which were more suitable for piano keys than gun triggers, were coiling around the metal phone chord. Hotch almost chucked when he envisioned the tapping foot and, now, probably very long, disarrayed brown curls.

"Hotch? Are you still there?" Reid sounded confused. How long had he been silent? Hotch shook his head from side to side to regroup his distracted senses.

"Sorry, Reid. I'm here."

"How are you?"

"I'm doing well, Reid."

"How about Haley and Jack?"

"They're good too." Hotch thought it was best to leave out the way he and Haley bickered because the job was becoming a whirlwind not even he could stop.

"And the team?" Hotch barely had a chance to respond before Reid's next bit of dialogue. There was a momentarily pause and then a rush of words that were both fresh and familiar to Agent Hotchner's ears.

"I'm be released after Thanksgiving and I know that's not too far away, but I don't know how I'm going to get home. Normally, I wouldn't bother you because I know you're busy but I've been thinking about how it feels weird to take a taxi or a bus home. Actually, I don't even know if there are buses up here, although I think there may be a private airport. Sometimes I hear and see small planes. You know, the type that are owned-"

"Reid." Hotch's flat, ordered, and clipped response immediately made Spencer's tangent stop. On his end of the line, Hotch suppressed his amusement. He had no words to explain how welcomed it felt to hear Reid's rambling.

"I can come get you if you want." There was a long pause. From somewhere in the rehab facility, Hotch heard the faint outlines of laughter.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, Hotch. It's just I was hoping...well, I guess I wanted to know if-"

"I'll tell Morgan that you want him to come get you." Hotch heard the sigh of relief through the phone line and he smiled at his now darkened office. He knew that Reid understood he wasn't upset by the request just as much as he knew Reid wanted Morgan to drive him home.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"It's not a problem, Reid." Hotch wanted to ask Spencer more. He longed to hear about his youngest agent's rehab stint, his new found recovery, and about his changed and improved mental state. Hotch would never admit this openly, but he missed Reid's wildly spewed statistical knowledge almost as much as he missed the quirky, awkward agent. Instead, there was another loud, distant yell, and Hotch swore he heard someone call Reid "Spenceropedia."

"Sorry, Hotch." Reid apologized for the intrusion. "It's trivia night and some of the patients want me on their team..." Reid's voice was rushed, but warm. It took a moment for Hotch to realize that he felt proud to be included.

"I can't imagine why, Reid." Hotch joked. Through the phone line came the distinguishable sounds of Reid's slight chuckle.

"You'd be surprised, Hotch. A rehab facility filled with law enforcement, military, and government officials has quite a few highly intelligent people. They're putting up a decent fight."

"Reid," Hotch's tone was his work one and he could practically see Reid's posture straighten at his controlled, insinuated order. "You better be representing the BAU well. I don't want to hear crap from other units or branches about how they're smarter than us."

"Are you kidding, Hotch?" Reid was very clearly amused now. "Have a little faith. I said that they're _putting up_ a good fight, but I'm still kicking everyone's ass." At Reid's wording, Hotch couldn't help the laughter than escaped his lips. He could see Reid's grin now. The memory flushed his cheeks and sent warmth to bits of Agent Hotchner that had long since been extinguished.

After they exchanged goodbyes, Agent Hotchner waited until he heard the familiar drone of the dial tone before clicking the disconnect button. The rays had long since departed for night, and Hotch sighed, sitting in his chair and leaning forward to complete his paperwork once more. Picking up his discarded pen, Hotch balanced the ballpoint between his fingers, stopping his hand above his half-completed forms. About now, he realized, Reid was probably spewing answers so fast that the other patients were sucked into a twister of statistics, dates, and facts. He chuckled again, placing the pen down. Work could wait until morning. On his way out the door, he called Haley and asked what she wanted for dinner. Hotch wasn't surprised when she suggested that he stop by their favorite pizza place on his way home.

The road was dark, yet the crunch of loose gravel felt reassuring under his car's tires. The mixture of melted cheese, cooked tomatoes, and a golden brown dough wafted from the cardboard pizza box in the backseat, making Hotch's stomach growl with want. He hummed along with the tune on the radio and tried to recall the last time he had felt this at peace with the world. Usually, when he drove home from work, Hotchner either struggled to stay awake with rolled-down windows and deafeningly loud rock songs. Sometimes, he savored the numbing affects of the car's silence. During rare instances, he let the tears flow down his cheeks, always making sure to stop their gushing before he climbed into bed next to his sleeping wife.

But, on this night, Agent Hotchner found himself stopping on the white wooden bridge. The river was oddly still, and, when he made his way to the railing and peered at the water below, Aaron saw some of the liquid was already frozen in odd, mismatched pieces. The bits that were free shifted forward, but did so with slight unforeseen movement. It was a vastly different scene than the rain-soaked, early-morning visit that was permanently burned into his memory.

To his right, stood outlines of a tall, thin, shaking young man. His hair was dripping with rain, his face a mixture of droplets and tears, and, when he turned to speak, the words echoed around Agent Hotchner:

_I choose Aaron Hotchner._

_Reid chose you, _Hotch thought. _Out of everyone-even Morgan and Gideon-he picked you. Why? _Aaron did not understand why his cheeks flushed and his heart quickened its pace. The past swirled around him, and Hotch stared down at the drop to the river's surface. The outline studied him for a moment, tipping his head to the side. His eyes penetrated through Aaron's skin to his flowing blood and thumping heart. When it spoke again, Hotch heard the past once more:

_I knew you'd understand._

_You did understand Reid's clues. It was you, Aaron. Not Morgan, or Gideon, or even JJ. You helped Reid. _Underneath, the water was still. It would have been long fall, and, for the first time since the Hankel case, Hotch felt the massive burden of guilt leave his body. All at once, he felt weightless, lightheaded, and alive. The outline blinked with long eyelashes, smiled, and began to fade, slowly at first, and then so quickly that Hotch wondered if he had actually seen anything at all.

He closed his eyes to the memories that were becoming indistinguishable, fragmented pieces. Hotch took a deep breath, feeling his feet move and hearing the tinkling of metal as the dangling keys struck one another in rhythm to his strides. When he drove away, Hotchner did not stare at the bridge, the water it was built over, or the ghosts that once had been situated on its side.

The thing with ghosts, Hotch realized, was that they existed when things were darkest. In the light, however, they became just figments of what once was, what was regretted, and what had passed. A lot had passed and a lot more was to come. It was okay, though, Hotch thought. It was all okay. In the rear-view mirror, the river flowed-powerful, silent, but present. Hotch leaned his sore neck muscles into the headrest, turning the car onto roads that greeted him like an old friend. Whatever would come, would not stop, but Hotch sensed the change.

Reid would make it through, as he would too. If they held onto the lessons that past taught them, they'd all make it through.


	42. Chapter 42

**Hi there readers. As with previous chapters, any therapeutic discussions are loosely based on some basic knowledge of psychology. This next chapter may be a bit out of character, but let's just call that poetic license. As always, thank you for the wonderfully kind, insightful, intelligent, and funny reviews and replies. You guys make me days brighter. Enjoy! :)**

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_Be a simple kind of man. Be something you'll love and understand. Oh, don't you worry, you'll find yourself. Follow your heart and nothing else, and you can do this if you try. All that I want from you, my son, is to be satisfied. -Lynyrd Skynyrd "Simple Man"_

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**Las Vegas: Present Day**

From her perch by the window overlooking the flower garden, Dianna Reid tried to quell the waves of anxiety rising from the core of her body. It wasn't unusual that she felt on-edge or paranoid, but it was very unusual that Spencer was the cause. Diana's fickle temperament stemmed from imaginary individuals, hallucinations, and feelings of overwhelming panic. Never in her life had she feared that her only son was abandoning her, even when he had her committed so many years prior. She had understood his dilemma even then-how could he live his own life when she was destroying hers? How could he reach his full potential when he was constantly worrying about her needs? It wasn't fair, and, once she was on the proper dose of medication, Diane Reid had agreed with his decision. As a parent, she'd learned to make sacrifices for her child and, although she sometimes detested the routine and abysmal life in a mental institution, she understood it was where she belonged.

But it had been two and half months since Spencer had written a single letter.

He wrote daily. Sometimes, to make up for missing a few letters due to his hectic schedule, he wrote extra-long letters, detailing things he knew she would treasure: how the world smelled after a sudden rain, the feeling of the morning's first light as it warmed his skin, and how his teammates made him feel as though he belonged. It was a weird concept for Diana to grasp because she knew her son did not fit with normal society, so to speak, and, in a way, never had, but he had outlined his relationships with his colleagues that made her marvel at his adaptability. With a pang of guilt, Diana Reid understood she probably enabled his acclimating abilities. Her moods were not always stable and, through the years, Spencer bore the brunt of many altercations associated with a diagnosis of Paranoid Schizophrenia. Still, he loved her and was a loyal son. He always made the time to express this devotion, and, without the familiar presence of his letters, Diana Reid's mind concocted the worst.

She hoped it had been a trying case. She hoped his coworkers had needed his help for an extended period of time. Although she knew the phones were bugged, Diana thought of calling Agent Hotchner. Spencer had supplied her with his numbers years prior and had explained if anything were to go wrong, it would be Aaron delivering the news. Diana thought Agent Hotchner's role went far beyond that expected of a unit chief.

Outside the window, the Las Vegas skyline was beginning to blend into a series of indistinguishable colors. Thanksgiving was in a week, and Spencer, usual anal-retentive with travel plans, had not written with details of his arrival. No scrawled, looped handwriting bearing her name and address were displayed on envelopes at mail time. Her doctors had softly explained that maybe she was overreacting and that, maybe, Spencer's job had kept him occupied. But Diana knew. Mentally competent or not, she was a parent and she _knew _her son. Something was not right with him and, quite possibly, he was dealing with this situation these past few weeks. For now, she had her spot by the window. She accepted this waiting because, anxiety for Spencer's welfare aside, Diana Reid understood he'd explain eventually. He always did.

And she would sit patiently until the time arrived.

**Virgina: Present Day**

The overhead lights in the auditorium dimmed once more before returning to a normal level of brightness. Noticing the signal for the end of intermission, patients headed back to their seats only after grabbing a few extra baked goods off the refreshments table. Although the talent show was only half finished, Reid found that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His magic act performed in the first half had earned bouts of laughter, gasps of surprise, and a round of cheering and applause when he was completed. Afterwards, Spencer had joined the audience to watch the following skits from both staff and patients. When Tony took the stage, Reid felt a twinge of nervousness for his friend, but had been happily surprised when Tony performed a stand-up comedy routine that left his sides aching and his jaw stiff with remnants of laughter.

The show continued, and Reid immersed himself into the acts. Angela surprised everyone, patients and staff alike, by singing a soulful rendition of an old gospel song Reid recognized from tune, but not from wording. When she finished, the patients rose to their feet as one, whistling and clapping with a furry Reid had never seen. It seemed like a perfect way to usher in the beginning of the daunting holiday season. It wasn't until the last act that Reid realized he had forgotten completely about Mike.

When Mike's name was announced, Tony, who had taken a seat next to Spencer, clapped his large, square hands together while yelling "Find the IED, GI Mike!" After the roars of laughter faded, Mike stationed himself on a lone stool in the middle of the stage with a microphone stand directly situated in front of him. It wasn't until Mike leaned forward into the black device that Reid noticed the acoustic guitar strapped onto his lanky frame.

"As some of you may know, I'm discharging in a few days and I wanted to leave something for everyone." Mike smiled, flashing a row of straight, white teeth. "And I thought for a long time about what I could do that, you know, would mean something." From the back of the room, a sympathetic member of the audience let out a loud, sarcastic "awww." Chuckles fanned through the audience.

"And I thought what better than to play guitar and sing? I used to do this in Iraq during down time..." Mike took a deep breath and Reid met Tony's curious eyes.

"Did you know he could sing and play, kid?" Tony whispered, cupping his hand around his mouth. Reid shook his head no. For all the time the three men had spent together, neither Tony or Spencer knew about Mike's supposed musical abilities. Even when they farmed together, a hum hadn't escaped Mike's lips. If Reid estimated correctly, this could go one of two ways.

"My mother used to sing me this song when I was a kid and, well, I never really understood what it meant until now." Mike hesitated a moment, someone yelled a positive encouragement, and with another deep breath, Mike closed his eyes and began.

"Please be good..." Reid heard Tony murmur more to himself, but aloud nonetheless. At the first few vibrations of the guitar's string, Reid understood Mike had a talent. A silence overcame the auditorium's occupants and, when Mike sang, Reid was both relieved and surprised to hear that he was in tune. In fact, limited music knowledge aside, Reid realized Mike had near perfect pitch.

_My mama told me when I was young-said sit besides me, my only son. Listen closely to what I say and if you do this, it'll help you some sunny day..._

And before he could really analyze the words, Reid understood the message. He knew the song by its melody, but never before had he listened to its poignant lyrics. Mike's voice rose with emotion and conviction. Reid met Tony's gaze once more before closing his eyes, allowing the words to surround the quiet reflection that rose to the forefront.

**Two Days Prior**

_"I'm nervous about Thanksgiving." It seemed foolish admitting this, even to Spencer who was used to his own awkwardness. Dr. B simply nodded, as if he understood everything about crazy mothers and upcoming holidays._

_"That's understandable. The holidays make people..." The doctor trailed off for a moment, mulling over the correct phrasing. "Frankly, a bit insane." Reid smiled, but did not know how to begin to explain the unmistakable signs of anxiety brewing deep within his stomach._

_"It's different..." Reid shuffled his weight, crossing his legs at the ankles and uncrossing them so forcefully that he almost fell forward._

_"Can you elaborate more on that, Dr. Reid?" Spencer sighed, biting his bottom lip. For some reason, he had still managed to avoid talking about Georgia and Tobias, but discussing his mother wasn't high on his priority list either._

_"I haven't told my mother I'm not coming for Thanksgiving." Reid said this so quickly that he was sure Dr. B would make him repeat it; however, the doctor simply waited with an unreadable expression that signaled for Reid to continue. He sighed again and chewed on his lip before speaking._

_"Actually," he admitted. "I haven't told her I'm here at all. She has no idea I have... had, a problem with addiction." Dr. B was expecting this confession, but was still somewhat surprised at the young man's admission. By now, he had a fairly decent grasp on Spencer Reid's upbringing and the affects of his mother's illness on the young man's psyche, but he was somewhat unnerved to discover that he had not explained his particular predicament to his own mother._

_"How do you imagine she'll react to this news?" Dr. B asked. Reid shrugged, staring at the carpet with feigned interest._

_"I know she'll have a few questions, but she'll accept it...accept me, I guess." Nodding, Dr. B thought for a moment._

_"I think you know what your homework will be." With those words, Reid's head shot upwards, meeting the doctor's eyes with large, seemingly terrified, hazel balls._

_"I thought you didn't force deadlines with disclosures?" Reid's voice squeaked, showcasing the terror that unfurled._

_"That's true, but, Spencer," Dr. B paused. "You've been here almost three months and I don't even know what happened in Georgia." At the mentioning of the Hankel case, Reid cringed, feeling the hairs on his arms stand at attention._

_"If anyone deserves to know why you've suddenly dropped all contact, in this case, letter writing, it's your mother." Reid exhaled, running his fingers through his almost shoulder length hair. The first thing he planned on doing when he was done with rehab was finding a stylist Garcia had mentioned and cutting almost all of this tangled web to an acceptable level._

_"I know..."_

_"And consider this a practice round." Reid groaned, understanding the next statement before it was said. "Because after you tell your mother about your addiction and where you are, you're going to tell me about the case in Georgia." In all fairness to the doctor, Reid could not fathom how he was so calm with these instructions. They had been skirting the issue for months, dancing around the proverbial elephant in the room. Well, Reid figured, he had done most of the dancing, but the doctor had always been patient. He had never pushed for a revelation, but Reid understood it had to happen soon. If not, his rehab stint was a sham. Who knew what Tobias would do once he left. His story needed to be told._

**Virgina: Present Day**

If he hadn't noticed the tears before, Reid sure noticed them when a equally teary-eyed Tony handed Reid a crumpled, but unused, tissue. Mike's voice echoed off the walls, resounding through the packed, hushed crowd. His voice rose, displaying an honesty Reid had never really heard or understood before. Usually, he listened to classical music. Yes, there was emotional quality and depth within that type of music, but, although he had no idea who sang the song or what it was called, Reid hungrily grabbed the lyrics, storing them into the back of his mind. He'd recall this moment later that night as he sat hunched over a dim bedside light, scrawling nearly illegible words onto both sides of ten pages of white-lined paper. She would understand. She always did. And, in that moment of stilted perception, Spencer Reid let himself listen to the lyrics reverberating to a place he had forgotten existed. He vowed he would try to be what the song said for his mother, his team, and, most importantly, for himself.

_And be a simple kind of man. Be something you'll love and understand. Baby, be a simple kind of man. Oh, won't you do this for me son if you can?_


	43. Chapter 43

**Hey there readers! Just a quick note, my math skills are sub par, so I may or may not have gotten Reid's age right because I was going off the first season and what his age would have been when he started at the BAU. Also, I'm afraid this next chapter is a bit AUish, but there's another chapter dedicated to what follows this scene...**

**I really want to thank everyone for the support. Whether it's an add, alert, message, or review, I feel grateful, lucky, and humbled to have such a wonderful group reading my story. On good days, you guys make my smile that much wider. On bad days, you keep me writing. Thank you. I cannot stress how much I value everyone's commitment, encouragement, and insights.  
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_"And I had a feeling that I belonged. And I had a feeling I could be someone."- Tracy Chapman, "Fast Car"_

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Thanksgiving morning was frighteningly cold. While the car idled, Emily ran back into her apartment to grab a thicker pair of gloves. Her mother had been only slightly disappointed when she explained that she couldn't make it to Europe for the American holiday, but when Emily fed her a line about the job requiring her to stay close to the BAU, Ambassador Prentiss had stopped the guilt trip. If anyone understood the requirements of a demanding job, it was her mother. With that particular burden free of her conscious, Emily had knocked softly on Garcia's door one late night after the completion of a case. When the analyst sighed, scribbled the address on a neon pink post-it-note and handed it to her, Prentiss understood that she was not at all surprised by the request.

However, explaining her Thanksgiving Day whereabouts to the other members of the team had been somewhat problematic. Gideon had made it clear that he would be at his cabin, and Morgan kept insisting Emily come to Chicago. As a cover because she knew Emily's real destination, JJ had mentioned she was welcomed at her parent's home in bumfuck Pennsylvania, and Garcia had invited her apartment, ensuring there would be plenty of alcohol available (Prentiss had to admit-that notion did seem rather welcoming). Not to be outdone, even Hotch had told her to stop by his home for dessert. Finally, with a faint trace of annoyance and a much larger sense of adoration for her caring colleagues, Emily had explained that while she appreciated all the offers, she preferred to spend the day gorging herself with Chinese food and watching sappy romance movies. Hotch had nodded in acceptance, Garcia had made some comment about that being a good idea, and JJ had met her eyes, remembering their previous conversation. Morgan had raised one questioning eyebrow, but backed off with his requests.

Now, alone in her car driving up winding roads while listening to a soft, inaudible tune emanating from the front speakers, Prentiss wished someone was in the passenger's seat to quell her nerves. This was just Reid. _For God's sake, _Emily told herself. _The kid knows how many kernels are on a corn cob. You have no reason to be anxious right now._

Was it because the last time she had seen him he had been in a deep sleep on the plane? The last time they had spoken he had been ghostly white and shaking in a small room given to them by a town's police department. Before that, he had retaliated angrily to almost everything she did and said. While that initial, fleeting hurt had vanished with the dawning of understanding, it now seemed to be replaced by fear. Emily understood that feeling well. It was the same one that used to form deep within her stomach before starting a new school in, yet another, new place. It was the way her nerves danced to a fast tempo right before breaking into a dangerous unsub's home. It was the same one she felt in Hankel's bathroom when JJ questioned her ability to compartmentalize.

The road was becoming more convoluted with each turn and Emily squinted, wishing she had brought sunglasses on the trip. The winter sun was deceivingly bright, penetrating downward, and, if glanced at through a window of a warm home, one would think the air was inviting and not frigid. Judging her GPS's red lines, Emily knew she was almost at her destination. Smiling, she wondered if Reid even knew she was coming. It would be nice to see his surprised face. Emily turned the car onto another mountain road, allowing her mind to wander.

**About three weeks prior:**

_"Em, wait up!" It was unusual for anyone on the team to call Emily by her first name, or Em for that matter, and she stopped out of curiosity, turning to watch the media liaison jogging towards her with a trailing, bobbing long blond wave that swayed from shoulder to shoulder with each step._

_"Yeah, JJ?" The blond woman slowed her rapid breathing, clutching her side for a moment. Emily was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was go home, drink a bottle of red wine, and sleep forever. If the ghost of Logan White planned on haunting Emily in her dreams, she'd counter with a higher than normal blood alcohol level._

_"I wanted to apologize." JJ managed to control her hitched breathing and was now staring at Emily with large blue eyes that were both hardened with determination and sympathy._

_"For what?" Emily asked incredulously. To the best of her knowledge, she and JJ had not fought. Hell, they hadn't even talked much. Although she wasn't that new to the team anymore, it still felt as though she was on the outside looking in on a very close-knit family. Everyone was trying to include her, but, sometimes, Emily felt as though she would always be an outsider._

_"What I said in Hankel's bathroom when I asked you how you could deal with this all..." JJ nodded outwards at the BAU parking lot, as if the rows of stationed cars were actually representative of the atrocities the team faced on a daily basis. If anything, Emily figured, they were more accurately symbols of workaholics. It was nearing 10 PM. and many cars were still in their designated spots._

_"Don't worry about it, JJ, that was a long time ago. I didn't take offense to it then or now." JJ nodded, flicking her eyes towards the ground before bringing them back to Emily's gaze._

_"But I do. You're human too. I was just so worried about Spence, and I thought that if I could be more emotionally controlled, like I saw you acting, then he'd be alright." Emily nodded, feeling her cheeks darken. 'If only JJ knew...' she thought._

_"And after today and Logan White-" The panic Emily felt was sudden, and she retaliated with sarcasm because it seemed the only plausible defense._

_"If anything, I took it as a compliment." Prentiss interrupted. "I've been practicing compartmentalizing for a while now." Emily tried to smile to ease the tension she felt, but her gums stuck to the dry linings of her teeth._

_"It's okay to feel afraid or sad or anything else..." JJ trailed off, locking eyes with Emily's suddenly tear-filled ones. Emily nodded, staring at her boots against the pavement. She didn't know how to explain that in the moment she had seen inside the oval length of Logan White's gun, memories-ones she hadn't thought of in years-came hurtling forward. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Sleeping on the plane had proved useless, and, while she initially agreed to attend the bar excursion, Emily now wanted nothing more than the privacy of her own home where she could cry away the pathetic feeling of fear in isolated peace._

_"When I was in that barn with the dogs," JJ leaned close to Emily because she was whispering, although there was no one around to overhear the conversation between the two female agents. "I was petrified that I was going to die...that Hankel would come to finish the job the dogs were meant for..." Emily glanced upwards for an instance before returning her eyes to her shoes._

_"It doesn't get easier if you hole up inside yourself, Emily." JJ's voice was filled with so much empathy that Emily almost let the tears flow right then and there. "And it's not stupid to feel scared or sad or even overwhelmed. It's what makes you human." JJ rubbed her hand across Emily's arm so she could catch her gaze. _

_"It's what makes you strong."_

_In all her life, Prentiss never had someone speak to her with such candor and care. It was the speech she wanted her mother to give her during all those sleepless nights in foreign lands with their strange languages, old-fashioned schools, and taunting children. Maybe, Emily thought, it was wrong to assume she didn't belong. If JJ understood her thoughts and emotions without her disclosure, then it was a sure bet that the team did know her more than she wanted or even understood._

_"Thanks, JJ." She did not lift her stare from the ground, but was surprised when JJ linked an arm with hers._

_"Come on, Em." There was the nickname again. "I thought you wanted to go to the bar with everyone?" Emily felt that her decision to drink Logan White into her subconscious in the confines of her living room was quickly disappearing._

_"I-"_

_"Everyone's waiting for you." JJ said, ignoring her feeble protests, pulling Emily towards the group around Garcia's and Gideon's cars. "Let's go. You deserve to have fun after the last case." Fun seemed to be an island Emily visited very rarely, but she couldn't help the smile that plastered onto her face as JJ dragged her towards the team. She'd never say this aloud, but this moment was the first one where she really felt as though she belonged._

Emily wondered if Reid had one of those moments too. If, when he had first started at the FBI at the unheard age of 22, he had experienced a moment of clarity-one where he realized that he both belonged in the team and in the world. It was one of those moments Emily was afraid would never happen, and she had almost resigned herself to believing that she'd forever be stuck in the doldrums of nothingness, as in, nothing would move her. No one would get in, break through, and she would become impenetrable, hiding raw, deeply felt emotions and experiences in her subconscious until the day she died or exploded to pieces. However, it was the memory of JJ's arm sliding into hers as she pulled her towards the team that made everything fall into place. It was that small moment, unidentifiable to the untrained eye, that made her warm with gratitude.

It was funny, Emily thought, how people affected you, particularly because most had no idea they had done so at all.

**Rehabilitation Clinic: present day**

Thanksgiving was beginning to become a dismal affair for Spencer Reid. For the first time in many years, he was not with his mother, albeit he wondered if heavily medicated psychiatric patients were comparable to the over-excited, yet anxious, rehab patients. Tony dressed in a polo green shirt and a pair of pressed khakis that made him look and walk like a stiff mannequin. However, when a woman with olive skin and hair as dark as Emily's arrived with a girl about twelve at her side, Reid understood the outfit. He had met Tony's in-laws and niece and nephew before, but he had never met Tony's daughter and wife (ex-wife Tony had whispered to Spencer before he hurried through the throngs of visitors in the common room). Actually, Reid didn't even know Tony had a daughter, but he supposed that it was fair, as no one really knew about his extended family either.

His mother had sent a reply express mail, which was an action that both alarmed and overwhelmed him with emotion. He couldn't recall a single time when she had done so before. Even though he had read her letter, which was lengthy but not as long as his ten page account of his whereabouts, Reid couldn't help it when he turned the familiar words over in his mind: _I'm not angry at your silence, although I was worried by it. I knew you'd explain, as you always do, and I can't say that I'm not shocked by what you revealed. In another universe, perhaps, you wouldn't have had that particular experience, but it's a detail of your job that is somewhat irrational, yet, tangible all the same. You know I've never wanted anything but the best for you. You know I love you more than anything in this world. I can't help you through this ordeal, or the many others you've faced and will face, but I understand your struggle. The world is a muddled gray, Spencer. It's all just a series of adventures that plunge and ascend into caverns of despair and lightness of hope. Unfortunately, adventures don't come with a well-defined route or set of instructions, but, trust me when I say that within such uncertainty and madness, there's a __beautiful lining only to envelop those who keep fighting, even when the world seems weighted with atrocities and skewed by darkness._

It was like his mother to be poetic, but Reid understood what she meant. Nuances and metaphors were her ways of explaining that she did support this particular journey. Yet, in the wake of the holiday season and the aftermath of JJ's visit, Reid felt as though he needed someone else to understand. He wished someone would appear, even if just for a moment, to take his hand and make light of the fact that he was spending his Thanksgiving in a rehab facility surrounded by patients and their families. If anything felt isolating, the loud, chattering, excited groups around him in the common room sealed his fate of eating a tense dinner with a nervous Tony and his equally strung wife and quiet child.

But when he saw her dark hair, porcelain skin, and rich brown eyes, Spencer Reid almost ran towards her. In fact, if it hadn't been for his previous actions, he would have hugged her so forcefully he was sure he would have broken her into shards because even pieces didn't even seem appropriate. For the short amount of time Spencer had been around Emily, he had realized she was not an openly emotional person. Very rarely did she show much of anything, but the woman walking towards him looked as though she was going to melt with anxiety. In fact, if it wasn't for the animated crowd surrounding her, Reid figured she very well may have made some kind of scene involving labored breathing, a shaking frame, and panicked sobs; however, she was an ambassador's daughter. Reid understood crowds helped keep her steady.

But it was still strange, scary, and relieving when she reached him with large eyes that said more than any words could have.

"Emily." Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what they would do if left to their own accord. Pulling JJ into a hug had been one thing, but Emily? Something told Spencer that he was on uncharted lands.

"Hi, Reid," she smiled. "I thought you could use some company today." He nodded, swallowing past the huge rock of emotion that had become rooted in his esophagus. After everything he had said to her, or, more accurately, yelled, she was still here? What had he ever done to deserve people who treated him this well?

"I..." Spencer took a deep breath.

"You look great." Emily's eyes scanned the young man standing in front of her. JJ had been right-he had put on some genuine muscle. The kid would never be a body builder, but he looked lean, fit, and healthy, which was in stark contrast to the last time she had seen him.

"I." Reid didn't know how words formed anymore.

"I figured you wouldn't want to spend Thanksgiving alone either." Something inside Reid told him that Emily had very purposefully avoided other plans. There was no way Morgan or Garcia wouldn't have extended an invite her way, but, all the same, Spencer felt waves of gratitude wash over him. Blinking to diffuse the tears, he smiled.

"You want a tour?" He offered. "We still have some time before lunch." Prentiss nodded towards the doorway.

"Lead the way, Dr. Reid."

And, as if nothing had ever changed, Reid smiled at his colleague, taking her by the arm to show her the place that had become both familiar and unexpectedly wonderful.


	44. Chapter 44

**Hi there FF readers! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday (however celebrated or not). Currently, where I live is under lots of snow, so I hope that everyone who got caught in this storm has been able to stay warm and dry.**

**As always, you guys are fantastic readers and reviewers. I cannot begin to explain what it all means to me. Thank you times a million.**

**I know this chapter has been a bit delayed. In that sense, I hope it was worth that wait. Enjoy :)  
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_"For what I've done, I start again, and, whatever pain may come, today this ends. I'm forgiving what I've done. I'll face myself to cross out what I've become. Erase myself, and let go of what I've done."-Linkin Park "What I've Done"_

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"I don't think I can eat anymore." Emily groaned, leaning into the seat back. Reid smiled, placing a hand on his full stomach. The food had been remarkably tasty and, currently, he and Emily were feeling its weight.

"I don't remember the last time I've seen you eat that much." Emily remarked.

"I don't think I've _ever _seen a human being eat that much." Reid countered, grinning.

"I am a professional Thanksgiving attendee," Emily replied, a tone of airy, yet fake, formality in her voice. Reid laughed, listening to the chatter of the other patients and their guests. From the consistently loud decibel, it seemed as though everyone was enjoying themselves. Stealing a glance at Tony, Reid saw that while the tension hadn't completed evaporated, all three members of his family looked a bit more relaxed than they had earlier.

Through dinner, he and Emily and made small talk, with Reid explaining the rules and regulations of the facility while Prentiss filled him in on a few things JJ hadn't: how the team went out for a night of drinking and a hungover breakfast, although Reid noticed she didn't detail the case he suspected made them drink in the first place. Reid wished he had been at the BAU when Prentiss explained how Hotch brought Jack into work on a slow day, which caused Garcia to commandeer the baby for a few hours only returning Hotch's son when she clothed him with a superman onesie. With chuckles, Prentiss detailed the various pranks she and Morgan had played on one another. Reid could tell that, for his sake, she was keeping the tone light and casual, but he sensed something else was there-something dark and painful was swirling at the surface of Emily's brown eyes.

"Want to go for a walk?" Emily suggested, nodding behind her towards the door leading to the grounds.

"Actually," Reid was already on his feet. "That's probably a good idea. You know, work off some of this turkey before dessert." Emily smiled, moving her legs around the chair. They bussed their table, grabbed their coats, and headed out into the chilly air.

It was quieter outside than Emily expected and she took a moment to listen to the stillness. Living in various cities had acclimated her to noise and disruptions in the form of inaudible shrieks, wailing sirens, blaring car horns, and screeching brakes, but, here, in the midst of the trees and hills, there was nothing artificial to hear.

"It's pretty isolated here." Reid commented when he saw how Emily drank in the woods, slow babbling creek, and crunching of her feet against hard, frozen blades of grass.

"It's beautiful, though." Spencer nodded in agreement. "I've been a lot of places, Reid, and this place is just as gorgeous as Italy, or France, or even the beach." Reid shoved his freezing fingers deeper into his jacket pockets. Their legs feel into an easy rhythm, and Reid waited until they were standing on a hill overlooking the grounds before he spoke.

"What's going on, Emily?" It was a soft question, and Prentiss heard the concern laced through his words. She sighed, glancing at her colleague while running a quick hand through her tangled hair.

"How is it, Reid," she began with a bemused tone, "That you're in a rehab center, yet you're asking me if I'm alright?" Reid smiled at the ground, shrugging his shoulder upwards as if pulled by invisible strings.

"I can feel it." Emily realized Spencer could have said a lot of things just then to make this statement verifiable, mainly that he was a profiler-a damn good one at that-but she turned her face outwards at the dim surroundings.

"Is it that obvious?" Reid studied her slack jaw, the makeup-covered purple bags, and her drooping shoulders.

"You look exhausted." Keeping his phrases short seemed appropriate, and, if his estimation was correct, Prentiss would explain sooner or later. When he looked at her again, Reid saw himself months prior. He turned his head, using his cheek as a barrier against the past.

"There was a case..." Emily trailed off, wondering how this news would affect the team's youngest member. Admittedly, she was afraid his eyes would showcase hurt that he, even in rehab, had missed something important, something he could have helped the team decipher; however, when the hazel mixture told her it was safe to continue, Emily sighed in relief.

"What happened?" Reid's tone was so incredibly caring that Prentiss almost sobbed, throwing herself against the young man she only knew through statistical tangents, angry words, and shared atrocities. Instead, she took a breath, and the words swirled upwards, extending outwards. She told Reid about Logan White, her failed attempts at negotiating, the inside of his gun, the memories that came floating to the surface, the drinking with the team, the nightmares, and the feelings of inadequacy and shame that followed. Emily spoke as if she had been harboring a dangerous weapon and was desperate to release it to anyone before it destroyed everything in its path.

For a while after she finished, Reid was quiet, twirling his thumbs around one another. Focusing her gaze on the horizon and its thin line of gray, Prentiss saw how the sky was blotted with clouds that elongated into a indistinguishable center. If she stared at it long enough, Emily wondered if the nothingness would swallow her whole too.

"After the-" Startled, Emily jumped. Reid noticed and waited for her to regain her composure.

"Sorry." She mumbled, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Reid met her gaze before looking at his feet.

"After the Hankel case, I remembered a lot of things too, Emily. Things I hadn't thought of in years. Things," Reid let his eyes fixate on the woods bordering the property. "I thought I had buried."

"It's not the same, Reid."

"How do you know that?" He asked, keeping his voice sympathetic. By the way Emily pierced the ground with a fiery look, Reid knew she was teetering between composure and exposure.

"I know what you're going to say, Reid." In the moment it took for Spencer to face her, Emily cringed at the harshness in her tone. He was trying to help, and she was responding with bitterness. Sometimes Prentiss wondered if she really could be happy. She wondered if anyone really was. She focused her eyes at the ends of his hair, which were twirling together in the breeze.

"What's that?" Reid's voice was still soft. Emily wished he'd yell at her, telling her that he hadn't dealt with everything and, now, he was paying the price. He'd have the rest of his life to answer to addiction whenever it decided to surface.

"That I'm being stupid. Nothing happened. I mean, things _could have_ happened, but they _didn't_. I'm making a big deal out of nothing." Reid's eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Actually," he began gently "That's what you _want _me to say, isn't it?" Reid paused and Emily studied the dead blades of grass while she waited for him to continue.

"I was going to tell you that what you're going through and how you're dealing with everything is normal, _regardless _of what did or did not happen." Reid's mind recalled his talk with Morgan. He had yelled at him, provoking his temper because Spencer knew it was easily ignited. _You wanted to make him angry because you were scared, _Reid remembered. _Now, Prentiss is doing the same to you. _

"It could have been worse, Reid. You can't tell me it couldn't have been." Emily's tried to stop her voice from rising, but her self control was carried off by the wind. Reid's stoic, unreadable expression was just stoking her rising temper.

"Look at you! Look around you, Reid! We're on the grounds of a _rehab _facility!"Emily gestured her arms at the barren trees and winter landscape surrounding the two agents. Spencer observed Emily for a moment and noticed how her body shook with anger.

"So what if things could have been worse, Emily." Reid's voice was quiet, but stern. "I've met a lot of people here that have experienced a myriad of repercussions, some of which have been catastrophic. They've lost everything-family, friends, homes, jobs...and others have been lucky. Yes, they're addicts, but they still have a home to return to and a support system." Although he didn't say so, Emily knew Reid counted himself among the "lucky" rehab patients.

"What are you getting at, Reid?" Her voice was flat and angry, but Prentiss could feel the stir of emotions underneath her attempt at emotional regulation. Reid stared at her again until Emily broke contact, letting her eyes wander to the tree line, the lone bird flying overhead, and the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

"Things can always be and become worse, but you have to accept that everyone has different breaking points. It doesn't make what happened to you any more or less traumatic. Whatever happens to you and however you feel about that is how you process and deal with everything." Emily let our a frustrated sigh and she found her lips were moving before she could stop the outburst.

"Jesus, Reid! Just tell me I'm weak! Seriously, I know that's what you're thinking!" _Why are you angry? _She thought. _And why are you taking it out on Reid? _If there were answers to these questions, Emily had none.

"I won't do that." Reid shook his head, pausing to hold her gaze with a strong one. "You know that's not true." Emily tried, she really did, but the tears came before she could stop them. Before she even knew they were there. To her surprise, Reid didn't look away.

"I know what you're going through, Emily." Reid's voice was low, but it was gaining both strength and speed. "You want someone to verify what happened, how you feel about what happened, and how it's affecting you. It's like your world is moving in slow motion and you're screaming, but no one sees, hears, and, more appropriately, you don't want them to because doing that would make the situation and your demons real." Emily broke his gaze, turning her face outwards to conceal her rapidly rising emotions.

"What do you propose I do then, Reid? You're the genius, you tell me." She scoffed, but was surprised when Reid's long, delicate fingers wrapped around her forearm, dropping the minute his hard eyes, reminiscent of Hotch's stare, met her own once more.

"You want someone to tell you that you're weak and that, no matter what happened, you should be better than that." Prentiss wondered who was the stranger speaking to her with Morgan's intensity, JJ's empathy, Hotch's authority, Gideon's experience, and Garcia's kindness.

"It doesn't work, Emily." Reid told her with the same set tone, and Prentiss nodded, feeling the hot saline drip down her cheeks. She silently prayed that Reid would break, but he didn't, revealing his new found strength with remarkable poise.

"You know that burying anything, no matter how instinctive after traumatic events, doesn't help. Eventually, it all becomes unearthed."" His voice returned to its usual soft nature, and Prentiss sniffled, feeling more tears push past her eyelids.

"To really get over something, to really let yourself move on," Reid studied Emily's tired eyes and shaking frame, purposefully ignoring the wetness on her cheeks. "You have to sit with yourself. You have to feel everything." In the silence that followed, the only sound was bare branches clashing in the wind.

"I know." She admitted, finally breaking contact by staring at her purple nail beds.

"If I hadn't been so willing to forget and deny gestures of help," Reid stopped, realizing he had pushed Prentiss away more than anyone. "I wouldn't be here now. If you let things spiral, then you're absolutely right. It gets worse."

"Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Red, hot shame crept into Emily's tear-stained cheeks. She didn't want to make Reid feel inadequate because he was in rehab. Why had she retaliated with such angry words?

"Don't be. I put myself here, Emily. Tobias may have injected the drugs, but I did the rest. You're right, you know. Things can get worse." Reid chuckled slightly, but it sounded sad to Emily.

"But the thing with rehab is, you don't belong here. You're too good for that, Emily." His tone lowered and Prentiss met Reid's eyes. "You're too good for this place. You don't belong here and if you even think about falling this far, I'll shoot you myself. Granted, I'm a bad shot, so you may have a number of injuries-"

"Reid." Emily's wanted her interruption to sound sarcastic because of Reid's feeble attempt at a joke, but her tone cracked and wavered. She took a deep breath. Both agents remained quiet, watching the weak sunlight fade into the backdrop of gray clouds. _Reid's right, _Emily told herself. _This isn't your place. This isn't your path. It shouldn't be his either..._

"This isn't where you belong either, Reid." The nylon layers of his coat shuffled as Spencer burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Emily, I'm an addict. I had and have a problem. This is the best place for me. It's where I need to be in order to recover, return to the team, and remain sober." Prentiss had expected a bitter tone, but she was, once again, surprised by Reid's composure and honesty. When more tears fell, she didn't stop them. The world felt still and, with Reid at her side, Emily knew she was safe. She knew she'd be alright.

Spencer watched Emily swipe at her cheeks and he wondered what else to say. How could he make Emily realize that it would be okay? He felt stronger than he had in months, but he also thought he may have reacted too forcefully. But what he wanted to say, what he craved to explain, was that, _finally_, he understood things wouldn't fall down around them. They'd both make it.

"I'm sorry," Reid admitted, and Emily almost laughed at his quick tilt of the head and pocketed, yet fidgeting, hands. It was as though the old Reid never left. "I don't think I'm helping you very much."

"Really?" Emily argued. "Because I think you are." She grabbed at his wrist, pulling his icy fingertips out of his pocket and clutching them between her own. Reid was so stunned by this display of affection that he didn't bother to pull away.

"Do you remember talking to me at the diner that night?" The world spun around him, and Reid's eyes enlarged with the memory. He remembered being high, so high that he had a difficult time concentrating on their conversation. Emily's concerned look had swirled in and out of view, and he had told her to "let me go." He had been beyond fucked up, and now Reid's muscles felt tense. He wanted to let go of Emily's hand, but he felt paralyzed.

"I do." He croaked. For some reason, she smiled and, although the edges were set, the inside quivered.

"I was petrified for you that night." Reid nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. How had their conversation turned so quickly? He closed his eyes. This was not what he expected. This was too much.

"I'm sorry." If his eyes had been open, Reid would have seen Emily shake her head in disapproval.

"Don't be." Her words, however, grabbed his attention, and Reid turned to face her, freeing his captured hand.

"What? Do you realize what I said to you that night?" This time, Emily's smile was fully sad. Reid avoiding watching the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I mean...I..." He growled. "Emily, I was horrible to you and you were just trying to help!"

"Reid-"

"Emily, I was high and scared and you were just trying to help. It was like I wanted you to save me, but I wasn't able to tell you I was drowning." In the silence that followed his words, Reid caught his breath. What he had just admitted had been a thought, but a voiceless one at that. Emily gave him a small smile, tilting her head to the side in order to catch Spencer's downcast eyes. When she finally spoke, her words were etched with understanding and empathy.

"I get it now, Reid. It makes sense." Emily thought there was no more room for words, and Reid must have agreed because neither spoke. The wind whipped more stray pieces of hair around her face, and Prentiss closed her eyes, absorbing the the caress against her damp cheeks. Next to her, Reid exhaled, as if he had just emerged from a long duck underwater. When she opened her eyes again, the world felt new.

"I miss you guys." Reid said when they began walking again, both understanding the conversation was over without needing to explain. He watched as his converse sneakers matched the strides made by her black boots.

"We miss you too. By the way, you are _so _getting some of my paperwork when you get back." Reid chuckled at the statement, but he couldn't help but notice how a warmth bubbled upwards. The past didn't matter and, in a way, the future didn't either. Reid figured, if everything was the way it was supposed to be, it was in this moment. It was with a friend at his side. It was in forgiveness. Spencer longed to tell Tobias that he was wrong. This was the only religion he needed.

The rehab facility transformed from a blurry, distant shadow to a wall of intricately stacked bricks. The two agents stood, staring at the back door, and Reid could not help but remember how he had once hesitated outside the broken exit door on a blustering night. It felt like it had been years since he had questioned himself and his sobriety. With a flicker of pride, Reid realized he had been sober longer than any other time following the case in Georgia.

"Hey, Em?" He asked. Her arm stopped reaching for the metal handle. Emily turned her head to face Spencer.

"I'm sorry for everything." Her eyes said that he didn't need to be, but she nodded in acceptance anyway.

"I know. Me too." In the moment it took Prentiss to open the door to the rehab facility, Reid understood what he had lost, what he had gained, and what he had earned.

The front of heat hit with an onslaught of warmth that dethawed their chilled, half-frozen extremities. When Emily caught Spencer's eyes once more, she was relieved to see he was still standing. She was relieved she was too. A familiar click resounded around them as the door closed with a whoosh.

"Pie?" Reid asked, eyes lighting at the suggestion of sugar.

"I thought you'd never ask." Emily replied, giving her coworker a small smile. The linked arms and walked towards the desert table. Outside the building, the wind hollowed, whipping stray, lone leaves across hard ground.

Once seated, Prentiss listened with amusement while Reid explained his initial reactions to farming, running, and therapy. Behind him, the view through the windows showcased a gray afternoon unfurling into a muted night. The colors merged and melted into one, creating a thin barrier at the horizon's smudged edge. Reid's voice floated above her, carrying Emily with him on his journey that unearthed hidden talents, shocking realizations, and hard-earned recovery. Prentiss felt the familiar, ancient ache trickle from her limbs as she leaned into her seat. In the distance, the mountains blended, the bare branches swayed, and the past faded from sight.


	45. Chapter 45

**By this point, it's safe to assume I'm not a mental health professional. Please take what's below for what it is-fiction. Also, I know that this chapter sounds like the story's end, but it's not. As usual, I don't know how to thank everyone for such wonderful reviews. You guys have kept me (and this story) going. Sincerely, thank you.  
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**Happy 2011! :) I hope everyone has a safe, happy, and healthy new year.  
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_"In pieces I've broken open to think too much or just enough. Alone to trust midst the rubble and the dust. Humbled, it took this much to break down and understood. Spent half my life in castles made of sand. Tossed in the breakers in the palm of your hand. Now, I can finally stand." -Mat Kearney, "Renaissance"_

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The snow outside the window blanketed the world in a wash of white. It never snowed in Vegas. Sometimes it snowed by the BAU, but the flakes never accumulated, evaporating almost immediately after falling. Occasionally, a case would take the team to a colder climate where flakes encased the world in a way that reminded Reid of a toy snow globe. In a shake, more would fall and, when it was over, the world was still and calm. It was as if everything was an old black-and-white photograph, capturing a moment of stillness.

"Dr. Reid?" The psychiatrist's voice brought back Reid to the office. He turned his attention from the window overlooking the white-capped mountains to Dr. B.

"Sorry," Reid gave him a quick smile. "I've never really seen that much snow before. It's a bit distracting." To his surprise, Dr. B chuckled warmly.

"It does the same thing to my daughters, granted they're eight and ten, but you get the idea..." It was the first time Dr. B supplied Reid with any information pertaining to his personal life, and Reid soaked in the knowledge the way a sponge became permeated with water. While he was grateful for therapy and the things he had learned about addiction and recovery, Reid couldn't help but feel restless. His time was drawing to a close and all he wanted to do was profile. His mind was practically banging against his skull in anticipation of his first day back at the BAU. Just imagining the bullpen made his heart's pace quicken.

"Why don't you tell me what happened after the cornfield? Where did you wake up?" Reid swallowed, but the lump situated at the back of his throat refused to budge. The moment to talk about Tobias Hankel had finally arrived.

"I was in a cabin, handcuffed to a chair with my own cuffs..." He didn't have to close his eyes to remember because the smell of metal and burning flesh filled the air. The dimly lit cabin came to view in Dr. B's office: The shovel and lawn tools in the far corner, the stiff back of the cold wooden chair, and the hunched form of Tobias stoking the fire with wood.

"At that point, did you know Tobias Hankel was suffering from DID?" Reid nodded. He knew in the cornfield when the man had begun, presumably, fighting with himself. In that moment, unarmed, alone, and petrified, Reid understood he was in over his head. It had been stupid to run off by himself, leaving JJ to canvas the barn. They should have waited for backup, like she suggested.

"It didn't matter if I hadn't figured that out by that point anyway," Reid argued, feeling his voice become flat with memory. "Raphael introduced himself and told me everyone was gone, that we were alone, and what was going to happen was God's will." Reid shuddered, turning his attention to the framed pictures on the walls that he had seen so many times before.

"He said he was an instrument of God..."

"Did you think he believed that?" Dr. B queried. Spencer nodded slowly, as if the memories of that night were returning in a series of suspended flashes that flickered in the air between the two men.

"He loaded a revolver with one bullet, spun the chamber, and pointed it at me, like it was a game of Russian Roulette. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to do it, that it wasn't worth it, but he pulled the trigger." The memory of the empty chamber's deafening click echoed off the office walls.

"Did he do this throughout your captivity?" Reid nodded, biting his lower lip until he felt the indent of his front teeth.

"He also called me a liar and a sinner..." Dr. B nodded, assessing his thoughts before he spoke.

"Do you feel that way?" Reid shrugged, preferring the view of the floor to the doctor's prying eyes.

"Parts of my job involve lying and deception, but sometimes I feel like I'm a fake." Although he wasn't looking at the psychiatrist, Reid could feel the man's eyebrows raise.

"And why's that, Dr. Reid?" Spencer sighed, shoving his hair behind his ears. It was getting so long he could wear it in a small ponytail.

"I sent my mother away, Dr. B., but no one on the team knows that. I mean, I guess they've figured it was me or the state, but I've never actually said those words to them."

"Do you think they'd view you any differently or with any less respect for helping your mother and providing her with quality care?" Reid let out a frustrated sigh. He had expected the argument and he knew the doctor was right. For a moment, he stayed silent.

"Well, I attempted to hide my addiction from them. They tried to help..." Reid paused, remembering Gideon's words in the jazz club. It felt like a memory from someone else's life. "But I lied to myself and to them."

"Do you think they knew what you were going through?" Reid thought for a moment, scrunching his face into crinkled lines.

"I think they all understand and empathize with the repercussion of traumatic events. Everyone I work with has been affected by some case or unsub. It's unavoidable in our line of work, but I don't think they really understood how far I had fallen..." Reid stared through the glass window at the blindingly white snow that was quickly covering the world in a canvas of white.

"Do you think you allowed them to understand?" Reid sighed. Sometimes, he hated Dr. B for the sheer fact that he was damn good at his job.

"No. They really did try..." Spencer trailed off when emotions and memories constricted his esophagus.

"What happened when they did? How did you respond?"

"Usually, with anger." Reid answered without hesitation, feeling the thick pools of red shame collect in his cheeks. "I wanted everyone to just leave me alone and, to obtain that, I had to lie. I guess I thought there was no way out."

"That's understandable, Spencer. Most people who have gone through similar experiences react this way too." Dr. B watched how the young man dipped his head downwards, cheeks blazing.

"I think," Reid cleared his throat loudly. "That I should have talked to them or someone, though. It would have helped."

"What stopped you?"

"I was afraid..." Spencer's voice was so soft and Dr. B had to lean forward to hear. The only sound in his office was the slight hum of the radiator as it trickled artificial warmth into the room.

"I was petrified I'd lose my job." Reid met the Doctor's eyes. "I was scared what that would mean if I did. Actually," Reid scoffed. "I was afraid what would happen to me without the job...I value a lot of things, Dr. B., but my job at the BAU is one of most important ones to me... I have no idea who I'd be without it..."

"It's not just about that, though, is it Dr. Reid?" Spencer bit his lip again. "Are you afraid that by talking about Georgia, you'll let your teammates down or let them see you in ways that make you appear less trustworthy?"

"It doesn't matter," Reid's voice cracked. "They saw most of it."

"How do you mean?"

"Tobias videotaped what he did to me too, so my team saw and heard me..." Reid turned his head to the side in order to hide the tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. His movement didn't work, and Dr. B handed him a bunch of tissues, which he took with shaking hands.

"You're doing great, Spencer." The psychiatrist encouraged. "Remember what we discussed-you don't have to tell me everything, but the important things, the ones that you remember the most, need to come out. These are the things that kept you using." Reid sighed, nodded, and blew his nose. When he felt composed, he began speaking once more.

"Tobias eventually came back. Somehow, he periodically was able to overpower Raphael." Dr. B nodded. DID was a rare disorder and most professionals went their entire careers without even see one, real case.

"He injected me with Dilaudid then...He said it would help, but I shouldn't tell his father..." Reid laughed bitterly, and Dr. B's eyebrows raised upwards.

"What did you feel when this happened?"

"He laced it so I hallucinated, and I saw my own father when he left my mother. It was a memory I remembered, but it hurt too much, so I stored it away...almost like I would visit it one day."

"Why do you think this memory came up then?" Reid shrugged. Whether it was Tobias's words, the situation, the drugs, or a combination of the three, he didn't know. Admittedly, Spencer didn't want to understand what made him think of the man who had left without a glance behind him.

"It had to surface sooner or later, I guess." Dr. nodded, waiting for the young agent to continue.

"In my hallucination...well, actual memory," Reid corrected himself. "I told my father I wasn't weak and I woke up saying those same words. This time, though, Raphael was back..." Reid paused to swipe at his eyes once more. Dr. B leaned back in his chair, keeping an unreadable expression on his face. What he really wanted to show was outrage and the sympathy he felt for this affected, yet strong, man in front of him. However, the psychiatrist knew the story needed to be told and that he was the one to witness its unfurling.

"Raphael made me choose someone to die..." Reid couldn't contain his tears anymore. After more loud nose blows, he told Dr. B about the web-cams set to display various "sinners." He explained how he refused, how Raphael told him he'd kill everyone, and how he called him a "poacher," hoping that one person on the team would understand the clue. He explained how desperate he felt, how completely sick to his stomach, and, then, when Raphael left to do "God's Will," how he felt numb. He chose who would live when two others died.

"You know that's not your fault." Reid shook his head, but found that he couldn't speak. Gideon's words floated to his mind: _He's using God to justify murder...you are not responsible for this..._

_"_Gideon said that too."

"And how did that make you feel?" Reid shrugged. How could he explain that, at that point, he already craved Dilaudid? How could he possibly illustrate the he wanted to escape even then?

"I don't think I understood it. I know Gideon meant well, but..."

"It's still something you don't understand?" Reid nodded at the question that sounded more like a statement. Dr. B thought before speaking.

"I think in your line of work it's hard to imagine some higher being or some God-like figure." Reid nodded, tearing at bits of tissue.

"Gideon _meant _well, though." He emphasized, unable to verbalize that he still didn't see why the murders were not his fault. Dr. B seemed to understand the issue and he motioned for Spencer to continue. Grateful to leave the topic behind, Reid forged ahead.

"Tobias came back from the murder with more drugs..."

"Did he inject you again?" Reid nodded, hands balling tissues tightly against his palms as rage boiled under his skin.

"I _begged _him. I fucking pleaded with him to tell me the address so I could get help for the both of us." Reid could not locate the center of his anger, but it surged into the spotlight in the same place his tears had once been. His body began to shake and Reid shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest.

_Tell me it doesn't help._

_"_I couldn't even answer him then!" Why was he so mad? What was going on? Dr. B was watching with the same calm expression and Reid resisted the urge to reach across the thin barrier and strike his palm against the doctor's cheek. Instead, he took a deep breath to quell his rapidly rising fury.

"Are you upset that you craved the drugs and the escape?" Reid nodded at the question, trying to contain his feelings, but the words leaving his lips burst outwards before he knew what was happening.

"I am weak! Who the hell would _want _that, Dr. B? If it were Morgan, he would have overpowered him. Hotch or Gideon wouldn't have even been in that situation. I should have just listened to JJ!" Reid felt himself shaking from the core of his stomach all the way to his fingers. A white hotness was seeping through his pores. He wasn't just mad. He wanted to destroy something. In an attempt to control his emotions, Reid crossed his arms tighter, digging his stubby nails deep into his flesh until he felt the trickle of blood.

"Spencer," the doctor's voice was soft as he reached for Reid's forearm, pulling it away from his grip. Glancing down, Reid saw five lines imprinted into each of his arms.

"I understand you're angry, but why don't you try to talk through this, alright?" Reid nodded, suddenly feeling very sick to his stomach. He didn't take his eyes off the floor when he spoke again.

"At the time, I didn't just want Dilaudid, Dr. B. I craved it. It almost feels selfish to admit this, but I was petrified the team wasn't going to get to me in time and...well, I guess I figured that, if I could float through it all, it would be quick. You know, in the end, it wouldn't hurt that much." Reid wasn't sure the doctor understood his reference to what had felt like his imminent, impending death, but, when he glanced upwards, the psychiatrist's eyes assured Spencer that he was wrong.

"I think," Dr. B began, "That you were already addicted because, somewhere, deep down, you brain understood that the drug, in that situation, was helping you survive. When you were drugged, no one was hurting you. No one was telling you to choose someone to live and die. Yes, you were out of control, but it was better than living in the present situation."

The world seemed to slow down. The rage evaporated and Reid felt drained. He hadn't thought of that before. The pieces fell into some systematic arrangement. Everything made sense. The minutes of silence stretched outward and Dr. B waited. When Reid spoke again, his voice was strained with memory, but soft at the edges.

"When Raphael returned and saw the track marks, he was so mad that he started hitting me..." Reid paused when he felt the past blows sting his skin. "The chair tipped back and I was still tied to it. I remember being in midair thinking I was going to die..."

"What happened?" This time, Reid smiled, but it quickly faded.

"Actually, I died." This time, Dr. B couldn't stop the surprise as it lined his face.

"Tobias overpowered his other alters and gave me CPR. He saved my life." The silence in the office made Reid think that Dr. B, although a renowned, well-practiced psychiatrist, hadn't heard a story quite like his before.

"When I regained consciousness, I saw old, broken headstones and I knew I had to do something. I had to try and send the team a clue because if I didn't..." He inhaled and exhaled before continuing. "If I didn't, the next time Raphael tried to kill me I knew I wouldn't be so lucky." Dr. B nodded and listened while Reid explained how Raphael, who was back in control, told him to choose a member of his team to die.

"Each time I refused, he shot a blank on the revolver." Reid did not know how to verbalize how fast his mind had been acting. Probability quotients had flown through his nerves at the same time he was attempting to recall any Bible passage that a team member would, somehow, understand. And, right when he knew the bullet was, at last, close to rocketing into his skull, the pieces came together, weaving into an intricate web that he prayed would hit the intended target.

"I chose Hotch."

"Why him?" Reid smiled at the question.

"I knew he'd understand."

Raphael, however, hadn't been understanding. Reid explained his confession to the alter and the sinking feeling that he would die. He told Dr. B how heavy his movements were, how he had resigned himself to digging his own grave and to never seeing anyone again. Just when he had sent a silent message to his mother, hope returned in the form of an elongated, broken fragment of light.

"But I saw their flashlights in the distance. I knew the team was there and I knew if I dug slow enough, I had a chance."

"What about Raphael?"

"He got frustrated at me because I was moving so slowly, so he took off his coat, and then I went for the revolver. It wasn't something I really thought about...I just reacted..." Suddenly, the room began to shift: _The metal pressed against his hand, causing Reid to shiver at the coolness. Above him, the office ceiling became a galaxy of stars that was immeasurable and overwhelming._

_There's only one shot in that gun, boy._

"Dr. Reid-" Spencer interrupted Dr. B before he could finish his sentence. He was almost done. It was time to let go.

"I shot him, and I could hear the team running towards me...I went to disarm Raphael, but it was Tobias..." Again, the world transformed: _He was crawling forward on wet blades of grass. The smell of iron filled the air and the young man's eyes were startled, but accepting. This was not the unsub he was trying to defeat. This man had tried to help. _

_Do you think I'll get to see my mom again?_

_The team was around him now and, even in his quick hoist upwards, Reid understood the flashes of simultaneous relief and sadness on their expressions. They had been late. Too late to stop his world from irreversibly changing. He understood they were just as scared as he had been. When the usually composed Morgan looked away to conceal his emotions, Reid felt himself sink._

"How did it feel to see your teammates again?" Dr. B's question brought Reid back to the room, although he felt the remnants of Georgia shift inside him.

"When I saw Hotch, I couldn't help it." Reid grinned. "They all know I hate being touched, but I grabbed Hotch, who isn't a fan of physical contact either, and I hugged him because I was afraid he'd disappear. I told him I knew he'd understand."

"Because he had?" Reid shook his head, still smiling.

"No. Because it was the only way I knew how to say thank you."

"Do you think he understood your insinuation?"

"I think he still does."

"So what made you decide to take the drugs off of Tobais?" The warmth Reid had previously felt deflated the instant he heard Dr. B's question. _Is there a way to explain that? _Reid asked himself.

"I'm not sure. I think my team thought I wanted to say goodbye, but it wasn't just that...I mean, I did, but..."

"At that time, did you think you were already addicted?" Reid shook his head no.

"I don't really remember _why _I took the vials. I think they made me feel safe...protected I guess..." His eyes scanned the office, falling on Dr. B's gaze for a moment.

"I think a part of me wanted to remember memories I had forgotten or pushed away...and I think the other part of me was afraid that Tobais and everything from my captivity would be the only thing I ever thought about again..."

"And by the time you realized, deep down, that you were completely addicted?" Reid sighed, running his hand through his hair and turning his tear-stained face towards the ceiling.

"It was too late."

"Why don't you tell me more about that?" So Reid talked. He told Dr. B about the cases following Georgia, the talk with Gideon in New Orleans, the hopelessness, the anger, and the longing for anyone to break through his steadfast inability to lower his defenses. He explained his thoughts in the church, the nightmare on the plane, the graveyard flashback, yelling at Hotch, and the drunken conversation with Morgan. As he spoke, shadowed memories floated into the office, appearing and disappearing with his confessions. The world was shifting, morphing into a form he had forgotten existed.

After a while, there were no more words. Reid took the granted silence to compose himself. He let the tears fall without hiding his face. He crumpled tissue after tissue and shifted his aching muscles until they burned. His body felt heavy with disclosure, but his mind felt increasingly lighter than it had in many months.

"How do you feel?" Dr. B surveyed the tired man in front of him. His eyes seemed to have aged in the past fifty minutes, but something else seemed to have surfaced. Something Dr. B suspected Spencer had not felt in a long time.

"Relieved." Reid did not know how else to explain the lightness that entered him. The heaviness was gone, replaced by a clarity that he had missed. The world seemed new. Different. Even the thick snow outside the window looked more brilliant that it had before.

"Well, Dr. Reid." The psychiatrist said while leaning forward, grinning. "I think our time's up." Reid met the blue eyes and nodded. He knew that this declaration alluded to his rehab stay and not just his fifty minute therapy session.

"Thank you." Reid smiled, extending his hand. Dr. B glanced it before grabbing Reid's hand with his own. In their quick handshake, Reid swore he saw a twinkle of tears in the doctor's eyes. However, when he stood on his cracking joints to leave, they were gone.

The hallway seemed wider than it once had, and Reid followed its path into the common room where an assortment of patients lounged on furniture while a another group stared at the falling snow outside the window. In the corner, Tony was attempting to plunk a familiar tune on discolored, chipped piano keys. For a moment, Reid stored the images in his mind: the flakes zigzagging to the ground visible through the glass pane, the clanking radiators lining the opposite wall, Tony's fat fingers hitting dulled keys, and the chuckled laughter of other patients as they scratched answers to crosswords and thumbed through outdated magazines. This place, Reid realized, felt just as much as his home as the BAU did.

"You alright, Dr. Reid?" One of the nurses asked. He nodded.

"Actually, I think I am." Tony, seeing his arrival, headed towards Spencer, short legs making quick strides against the carpet.

"How'd it go, kid?" Tony asked with dark eyes. Reid watched the color swirl with anticipation and concern. During times like these, Reid couldn't help but think of Morgan.

"Well. Really well." He flashed Tony a grin that Tony returned. "How's the piano playing going?" Tony shrugged.

"I'm pretty sure my daughter can still kick my ass." Reid chuckled, eyes fixating on the world of snow outside the facility.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Tony mentioned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "When I was a kid, we used to get all dressed you, you know, in layers and wool mittens. We'd make snow forts, go sledding, and beam each other with snow balls..."

"I've never done that before." Tony's eyes widened. "I'm from Las Vegas, Tony." He reminded. The man sighed heavily.

"That sucks kid. Snow can be fun. Cold and icy sometimes, but still fun." Reid nodded as an idea formulated in his mind. Before he knew what was happening, he was walking towards the nurse's station with Tony at his heels. He was surprised when it was his voice that asked the nurses if everyone could go outside. He was even more surprised when they had wholeheartedly agreed.

He and Tony, along with the other patients and even a few nurses, bundled in layered coverings, trudging out into the white world. Outside, the made snowmen, snow angels, snow forts, and had an epic snowball fight. By the time everyone returned to the warm facility, other staff members had prepared steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Although there was a curfew, the nurses ignored it, and everyone spent a loud night in the entertainment room watching old movies. Reid didn't know how to tell Tony, who was discharging the next day, or anyone else really, how the world seemed to have shifted into a new form. Things just didn't _feel _different. They _were _different.

That night, as he lay awake listening to Jim's light snores, Reid smiled in the darkness. This was the moment he had been waiting for since Georgia. Maybe it had been the one he had been waiting for his entire life. Turning on his side, Reid studied the photograph of his teammates, closing his eyes when sleep visited his lids. In his dreams that night, he was in the BAU. The team was laughing and smiling and the warmth felt all-encompassing. Hotch stopped their antics, turning to Reid, who knew it was his turn to reveal what he had meant to say all along. It had been hidden underneath cases that would not leave and in nightmares filled with unsubs and the vacant, distant eyes of the dead. It what was what had been once left in pieces at a late-night diner,in shallow pools of liquid in empty glasses at bar counters, in swirling waves underneath a bridge, and in harsh words echoing off the walls of a tiny hotel bathroom. When he met their attentive gazes, Spencer Reid understood the path he chose and he was grateful he had found its end.

_It's alright_, he told them. _I made it through_.


	46. Chapter 46

**A quick correction: In the last chapter, I referenced ****Raphael when I should have used Charles at certain points. I'm not going to edit and repost, but thank you to Jabberswife for pointing out my mistake. I apologize if I confused anyone!**

**And thank you to everyone who read, alerted, reviewed, etc. You guys are simply awesome. Enough said. :)  
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"_There's a lot of things that can kill a man. There's a lot of ways to die, and some already did and walk beside me. There's a lot of things I don't understand. So many people lie. It's the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me. Will I always feel this way? So empty? So estranged?" -Ray LaMontagne, "Empty"_

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SSA Agent Gideon leaned into the seat back, staring at the black, leather-bound notebook in the middle of his desk. He reviewed the entries so often that they were now dedicated to memory; however, telling the writer he had read his most private thoughts and feelings seemed next to impossible. Somehow, even for all the prying his job asked of him, it didn't feel right to Gideon. It was wrong, as Hotch had stated so many weeks prior, but Jason couldn't go back now.

Gideon reached forward, feeling the leather cover under his dry, crinkled skin. Spencer would be home soon. Jason knew he'd have to face the consequences of his actions eventually. He wished he hadn't been so impulsive when he returned to Reid's apartment that night months prior. He should have left the journal alone. But sleepless nights had mocked him with insecurities. Often, he revisited the Hankel case: the dilapidated, cluttered home with bloodstains on the bathroom floor. The cluster of computer monitors, always showcasing Reid in some state of torture and pain. Everything came back in bouts of darkness, and Jason Gideon was becoming both frustrated and helpless. How could he stop the barrage of emotions? _It's because you feel guilty, _he finally realized one late night over a glass of whiskey. _You feel responsible for Reid and everything that followed. You were right-Hankel couldn't use God to justify murder, but you didn't help Reid justify the aftermath. Now, you have to tell him you read his most personal words because you had no clue how to help him. You have to admit you were wrong and, worst, you should have been better than that. _He sighed, drooping his head downwards so both of his shoulders were pointing towards the ceiling.

"Sir?" He heard the familiar voice ask. "Are you alright?" Regaining his composure, Gideon looked towards the doorway, blinking at the immediate onslaught of color.

"Just tired." The tech nodded, heading towards his desk with slight uncertainty. She was good at her job, Gideon knew, damn good, but sometimes he could tell she lacked confidence. Away from the computer screen, she was easily thrown off track by authoritative figures, shrinking back in conversations and allowing others to take the lead. When her fingers were flying over keys, however, she was most secure. Gideon longed to tell the tech analyst that she shouldn't be ashamed of anything, but who was he to judge? After all, shame followed him everywhere, floating next to him like some haunting, other-worldly apparition.

"I have the case file you asked for" Garcia paused, hand extended, "I'm sorry. There wasn't any new information...at least none that I could find." Her hand outstretched towards him, but her eyes did not meet his. Penelope had been flabbergasted when Gideon had cornered her in the kitchen between the fridge and water cooler. He had fidgeted with his hands, staring at a spot on the ceiling before asking her to recheck the Hankel case. His words floated to mind: _This isn't an order...more of a personal favor. I just want to make sure we covered everything and nothing was missed. _Something in her stomach had churned at the thought, but she had nodded in silent agreement. Now, Garcia understood, it was a desperate plea from a half-broken man.

"Thanks." Gideon's voice was soft as he took the familiar file. Its contents felt overwhelming and Gideon wondered if Garcia felt it too. She nodded before heading towards the door, stopping for a moment before spinning on bright pink heels.

"Sir?" Gideon raised his eyebrows and glanced upwards, watching how Garcia's face crinkled in worry and anxiety. Gideon knew she was debating leaving him alone or meddling.

"I don't know why you're rehashing that case or if it means anything, but you can't drag the past around forever." In the silence that followed, Gideon swallowed past the emotions that had suddenly surfaced. He knew she was correct, but he hated it all the same. On the desk next to the file, the journal mocked him. Why had he been too late? Why did it feel like, lately, he was always too late?

"I just," Gideon cleared his throat, watching Garcia fidget with the bracelets on her wrist. The metal made odd, mismatched clinking noises. "I just want to make sure I didn't miss anything." Garcia bit her lipstick-covered lips.

"Sir, with all due respect, we _all _missed something, but that doesn't make it anyone's fault. Things like this just happen sometime." Gideon was almost positive that, if Garcia didn't leave soon, she'd see the wetness pooling behind his lenses. How could he possibly explain the burden he secretly harbored? It was impossible to detail this confliction to Hotch because, in the past few weeks, he had been more at ease than Gideon had recalled him being since the whole fiasco began. Morgan was excitedly anticipating his upcoming drive, JJ had seemed to dislodge her guilt some months ago, and Prentiss had been poised and calm since Thanksgiving. If anything, he had to hide his worry. The team looked to him for support and reassurance-not the other way around.

"I'm sorry." Garcia's voice wavered. "I didn't mean to upset you. Maybe we did miss something..." When she turned to exit, mumbling something to herself that Gideon could not untangle, Gideon felt he should speak.

"No, Garcia." She stopped, bracelets slamming into one another. "You're right, actually."

"I am?" When she turned to face him once more, Gideon saw the surprise etched on her pale skin and in her large eyes. Her bewildered look alone almost made him laugh. If it wasn't for the brick of emotion stationed in his stomach, he would have.

"We all missed the obvious. We all failed to act when we should have, but that doesn't change anything. You're right. We can't change the past." Garcia nodded and Gideon watched her earrings swing from side to side.

"This just feels like my fault." Gideon admitted, staring at his desk as it swam in and out of view. He heard Garcia sigh and he smelled her amber-scented perfume as she approached him.

"Sir, Reid looks up to you, but he's an adult. I think he understands his actions. He's had a the past three months to figure everything out." Gideon sighed as the desk came into a tangible, solid form. He met the analyst's large, sympathetic eyes.

He gave her a weathered smile that cracked at the edges. She smiled back. "You sure you don't want to become a profiler?"

"Hardly," she snorted, bemused. "I'll take my computer cave over dead bodies and psychos any day." He chuckled, glancing at her fluorescent purple nails. Judging from her outfits, Gideon imagined her home was so brightly decorated that she probably wore sunglasses to protect herself when the sun extended through the windows from the outside.

"Thanks, Penelope."

"Anytime." Her heels created a quick, staccato rhythm on the tile as she walked towards the door, hesitating in the opening before turning back towards him yet again.

"Don't worry about Reid, Gideon." Surprised, Jason's head shot upwards from his resolute stare on the Hankel case file. "I think he'll be okay. I mean, I don't know that, but I think the worst is over."

"And your proof?" Gideon queried, knowing the answer before he asked.

"Let's just call it my intuition." She said with a telling smile. When she shut the door behind him, Gideon chuckled. Suddenly, a few member of the teams changed moods made sense. Too much sense. He wondered if Hotch knew they had defied orders too. Smiling fully, he placed the file and journal to the side, leaning back into his chair once more. Placing his cupped, interlaced hands behind his head, Gideon looked across the room, studying the photographs of people and places suspended in time. He wondered if Spencer knew his very own picture was seated in the middle of all the other survivors. Gideon figured the kid would like to know that, unlike the others Gideon had saved, Spencer had really saved himself.


	47. Chapter 47

**I've decided that you'll all know when it's the last chapter because I'll say it in my AN. However, until then, assume that every chapter isn't the last unless noted. Don't worry-there's more to come. This story has a life of its own. :)**

**As always, you guys have left me speechless. I've run out of words that can express my sincere, deep gratitude. I put everything I have into this story, its descriptions, characters, plot, themes, and emotions. I have no way to describe how moving and humbling it is to receive the reviews, PMs, alerts, etc. that I do. Thank you. All of you who have read, alerted, reviewed, etc. are the reason this story has developed and continued.  
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_"Where the river bends is a place I've been. The water's not as blue, and the grass ain't so green. The current gets strong. It can pull you down. You gotta swim hard if you want to turn around." _

_-Matthew Barber, "Where The River Bends."_

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A black wingspan soared higher, then lower, floating on the winter wind. The bird circled above the forest floor, swooping downward with no warning before its sudden drop. Reid observed the barrenness surrounding him, enjoying a last moment among the gray sky, tree branches, and snow-covered farmland. He would miss the stillness and the way it calmed his tense muscles and racing mind, but Reid knew he couldn't stay forever. A piece of him would remain here, he understood, but the twitching in his limbs told him it was time to go.

_You and I are heading in different directions._

Spencer smiled, lips tugging upwards towards the dull canvas. Although Melinda felt like she had been someone he encountered lifetimes ago, her message, however convoluted, had stayed. She was right, as she always was even at her most twisted moments. They had been traveling towards two different roads. She chose her demons, ones that already had taken hold, and he decided to overcome his. After all, this struggle for peace and balance was one he had been fighting for his whole life. Sometimes, the battle changed its form, but it was always there. Now, Reid realized, he was the one who transformed.

The frozen creek to his right was flanked on either side by white banks of snow, and Reid followed the water's icy trail, scanning the distance for bend to its path. How many times had he run next to it, feet thumping against solid earth on early mornings? With each step, Georgia and Tobias had retreated into the past, simultaneously surging forward in the moment when he least expected it. As he stopped to tie his shoe or clutch his aching ribs, ghosts surrounded Spencer Reid. This was where Melinda had tempted him with what he had thought was Dilaudid. This where he had kissed her on a cold night underneath a galaxy of stars. He had made two close friends here, learned how to farm, and had discovered that nightly poker games were his favorite way to pass the time when he couldn't sleep. This was also where he remembered who he was and discovered who he had become. This place was where he struggled, but had managed to leave it all behind.

Reid stopped burrowing hands in pockets when he heard familiar footsteps. By the shuffled, quick pace, he knew who it would be.

"I figured I'd find you here." Reid nodded, shoving hands deeper into his jacket's lining. He had been waiting for this moment for months and now that it was here he felt vulnerably aware of his journey and the raw expanse situated before his eyes.

"I just wanted to take one last look. I'll miss all this nature when I'm back in my apartment. I think my neighbor has some potted plants, but that's it." He joked, watching her lips twitch into a smile.

"This place is God's land." Angela agreed, propelling Reid backwards to a patch of earth he once cultivated with Mike. Spencer bit his lip, wondering how both Mike and Tony were fairing in the real world and with sobriety.

"Do you think there's a plan for everyone?" He asked Angela, watching as her face melted into soft lines. "I mean, do you think that everyone has some kind of set path?"

"I think," she began, keeping her eyes focused on the tree line, "We have some things that are given to us. You can't choose how and what you're born into, but, I think you can get out, Spencer. I think you can choose where your path leads and ends." Reid nodded, understanding the message. Its abstractness reminded him of Gideon.

"It's funny," Reid began, unsure if he was speaking to himself or Angela. "The things you tell yourself when you leave a place." Angela nodded, keeping her eyes anywhere but his. Reid took her silence as an unspoken acknowledgment to keep speaking.

"The day my father left I told myself that I wasn't weak and I'd do everything to prove I wasn't. When I went to college, I told myself that it was so I could become who I wanted to be, whoever that was, even though the only thing I ever wanted to do was help my mother. I had her institutionalized and she left me, and I told myself I had failed as a son. When I moved to Virgina to work for the FBI, I told myself I was working towards making this world a better place...that I was helping people..." Reid took a deep inhalation before continuing.

"In the car on the way to rehab, I told myself I'd make it through and I'd overcome everything..." Reid remembered the ride to the facility and Hotch's pocketed prescription. He had tried to ingest the remaining pills unnoticed under Morgan's watchful gaze, but he was sure it had been detected, although not commented on. Morgan's silent acceptance had shamed him then, but, now, in his sober state, Reid realized he had to find a way to thank Morgan. It didn't matter that Morgan, being Morgan, would shrug away the apology with a line about helping a friend. It didn't matter that Reid would have acted the very same way if their roles had been reversed. Deep down, Reid understood that Morgan had pulled him off a very real cliff.

"And now?" Angela asked quietly, shifting her eyes to the young agent before focusing her gaze back onto the surroundings. Reid smiled at his feet.

"I guess now that I'm leaving here I'm telling myself that I've done my job, that I've recovered, and that I'll be alright." Angela nodded slowly again, drinking in Spencer's words. The wind caressed a few branches, pulling stray snow off the wooden extensions.

"And I'm also telling myself that I'm scared..." Spencer hadn't realized he was until the words left his lips, but the feeling was true. His stomach was twisted in knots and, although his recovery had been hard-earned, he couldn't help the twinges and jolts of fear from taking hold. Angela gave him a small smile.

"That's okay." While he was expecting a more profound statement, Reid was surprised to accept the simplicity of Angela's sentence. She was right. It was normal to feel scared. He was normal.

"Thank you." Angela nodded. For a moment, they listened to the wind whistle past the trees.

"Don't let me catch you back here, you understand me?" Angela attempted to keep her voice stern, but it wavered, cracking at the end. Reid sent her a wobbly smile, keeping his eyes cast on his fidgeting feet.

"I won't be back. Trust me, I won't." And the thing was, Reid knew he wouldn't.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you can't check in once and a while." She slipped an envelop into his hand and Reid stared at the cover with his name written in her looped, cursive handwriting. He didn't flinch when a tear smudged the ink.

"Come on, Spencer," Angela began as she canvased her cheeks with wool mittens. "That beautiful, dark chocolate friend of yours is waiting in the lobby." Reid absentmindedly smiled at her wording before stopping when the sudden surge of realization hit the center of his chest.

"Wait, Morgan's already here?" He squeaked, feeling nervousness erupt from deep within his core. Angela laughed until her sides shook.

"Sorry, Spencer. But I had to flirt for a little bit. However, he is a beautiful specimen..."

"Whatever you do," Reid said, controlling his anxiety with slow, drawn-out wording. "Don't tell him that. It will only encourage him."

"With buns like those-"

"Aren't you married?" Reid interjected with a grin as he locked arms with nurse Angela. The facility was edging closer and closer with each step.

"Psshht," she protested. "Doesn't mean I can't admire handsome strangers." Reid chuckled, and even though he didn't want Angela to make her crush known, he made a mental note to tell Morgan about her words later. Something told him, however, that Morgan knew about Angela's liking and he had already worked his magic. Reid grinned, thinking about the candy that Angela, no doubt, had slipped his waiting colleague.

"This is really happening..." Reid began when they reached the back door. Angela raised her eyebrows and didn't hesitate to reach for the handle. Heat trickled outwards from the inside, and Reid's limbs protested at being forced to stay in the cold air.

"Well, Agent Reid." Angela smiled, meeting his eyes. "You ready to leave?" Reid nodded, watching the ghosts of the past form behind her: Tobias in the cabin, Melinda underneath pockets of stars, Hotch on the rain-soaked bridge, Morgan in the hotel bathroom, JJ's smile as she pulled him into a hug a few weeks prior, and even Prentiss's nervous expression during her visit. Gideon's voice floated back to him: _He's using God to justify murder...you are not responsible for this..._

Reid knew he was right. There was no way to justify why Hankel had killed so many, but he what happened after his captivity wasn't Hankel's fault. All the harsh words, tears, withdrawals and drug use were his actions. He had caused his own undoing. Reid took a deep breath, inhaling the refreshing winter air. Finally, the ground felt solid. As the figments evaporated, Reid stepped inside, leaving behind more than just an addiction. Each echoed step reassured him and, before he knew what was happening, Spencer was in the rehab's lobby, staring at the familiar face that was etched with a mixture of welcome and anxiety. Morgan's display of emotions caught Reid off-guard. He was surprised by how easily he could read Morgan's feelings, but, Reid realized, he had every right to feel just as scared as Reid. After all, he had left ninety days prior with just a quick glance behind him. Reid knew he was lucky to still have the team supporting him. Reid studied Morgan tapping foot, nervous knuckle cracking, and closed eyes. _God, _Reid thought. _I've missed so much._

While he had fidgeted among rehab patients and staff, Derek Morgan couldn't stop his brain from concocting the worst. What if Reid had used his superior intellect to fool everyone? What if he had been playing along and was itching to be released and score his next high? What if everything became some much worse than it had been before? Morgan didn't know how he would handle that situation and, admittedly, Derek wasn't fond of or used to dealing with things he couldn't fix. Sometimes, the job made it an inevitable, but what if Reid was beyond help? The thought alone made Morgan close his eyes in a feeble attempt to suppress the simultaneous feelings of inadequacy and rising waves of bile. _I couldn't help him before this so why can I help him now? _he ruminated. _What if Hotch is wrong? What if I can't do this? What if Reid can't? _Morgan's thoughts would have spiraled more if he hadn't heard the familiar, soft voice.

"Morgan?" In an instant, Morgan's eyes shot open. The sensation that attacked his limbs left Derek so lightheaded that he almost sunk into a chair that was pushed against the adjacent wall.

"Hey, kid."Morgan made no effort to stop his smile's warmth as it extended to each one of his tense muscles. Months of worry and many sleepless nights evaporated. Reid looked healthy. His cheeks were rosy, his hair was pushed into a makeshift ponytail, and a covering of lean muscle was visible from underneath his fleece jacket and jeans. Even his eyes seemed lighter, void of the heaviness Morgan had last seen as he watched the young man turn towards the car stationed in the rehab's parking lot.

"Hi Morgan." Reid grinned and Morgan couldn't stop himself from doing the same. "Thanks for coming to get me." Morgan nodded, breaking contact when his emotions suddenly surged upwards. He wondered when his breakdown and complete emotional release would come because this was too much. Reid shifted his weight, and Derek could tell he felt scared and nervous too. However, before he could sneak a quick profile in Reid's direction, a voice interrupted their reunion.

"Dr. Reid!" someone called out, and Morgan watched as a thin man wearing pressed, black dress pants and a forest green sweater walked towards the small group of nurses and patients surrounding the two agents.

"I just wanted to wish you luck. I'd warn you about ending up back here, but something tells me you've already heard the third degree from Angela." Dr. B nodded towards the friendly nurse who had shared some candy with Morgan while he waited. He grinned, knowing that Reid had worked his unknowing charm on Angela, who probably considered him her favorite.

"She did." Reid chuckled, meeting the psychiatrist's eyes. For a moment, they shared a knowing look. To Morgan's surprise, Reid extended his hand.

"Thank you, Dr. B. I appreciate everything." Dr. B studied Reid's hand and, then, without hesitation, he pulled Reid into such a forceful hug that Morgan couldn't help the booming laugh that escaped his lips. For a moment, Reid's arms flailed in surprise before returning the gesture of affection and goodbye.

Reid had not been prepared by Dr. B's drop of professionalism, but he also wasn't shocked by it. Actually, Spencer realized as the hug ended, he felt that the bout of quick physical contact was needed. He had not known how to say goodbye or how to express his sincere, deep gratitude.

"Thank you." Reid emphasized again, unable to stop the goofy grin from lining his face. Dr. B nodded, eyes traveling to Morgan.

"You must be Agent Morgan?" He asked, extending his hand in the same manner Reid had just done. "I'm Dr. Paul Batalini, but please call me Dr. B. I was Spencer's psychiatrist during his time here." Morgan nodded, somewhat surprised that Dr. B knew his name without introduction, but shook the psychiatrist's hand anyway. Reid saw Morgan's eyes dart towards him.

"Don't worry, Morgan." He joked. "I didn't tell him anything _too _bad." Morgan snorted, turning to face the doctor.

"Thank you for all your help." Dr. B nodded, meeting Derek's eye.

"Tell Agent Hotchner hello for me." Morgan tried to hide his surprise. He should have figured Hotch had picked Reid's rehab facility, but he was some unnerved to discover that Hotch knew the doctor who had helped Reid recover.

"I will." Morgan agreed, making a mental note to ask Hotch just how and why he knew a psychiatrist who treated addicts. Morgan watched from the sidelines as Reid said goodbye to a few patients and nurses, waving an envelope at Angela as she made no attempt to hide her tears. He didn't push Reid to leave. In fact, if Reid knew what was waiting for him once they returned to his apartment, Morgan was almost positive he would refuse to get in the car. Reid signaled he was finished with his farewells, and Morgan grabbed the familiar to go bag. In one motion, Reid slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, shoving hands deep into his pockets. While it felt overwhelming and relieving to be leaving everyone, Spencer knew it was time to move on.

"You ready, Pretty Boy?" Morgan asked, studying the delicate features and hazel eyes. Reid met Morgan's look and nodded. Without another word, Reid turned, waved again to the staff and patients, and the two agents fell in step. When the doors opened, Reid turned his face upwards at the weak sunlight that had managed to peak its way through the clouded veil. This moment had finally arrived. After everything that happened, he was really here, feeling the warmth the winter light and standing as a sober man, as a stronger man. He felt new. Spencer hadn't realized he was stationary until he heard Morgan's voice.

"Reid, you alright?" Spencer turned his face back to his coworker, watching how Morgan's forehead crinkled in worry. He took a few long strides to catch up.

"Yeah. Sorry." Spencer met Morgan's dark, emotional swirl. When he felt the flicker of relief, Reid smiled, reassuring his friend with words he had waited months to say.

"Come on, Morgan. Let's go home."


	48. Chapter 48

**This chapter is dedicated to David Foster Wallace's novel _Infinite Jest. _If anyone has actually been able to read all of it, please fill me in how you did it. I've tried numerous times, I really have, but it's schooled me. Well played, Wallace. Well played.**

**As a warning, I know nothing about poker. I'm not much of a card player. My attention span is definitely not long enough. Let's just pretend my writing about poker and cards is somewhat acceptable, accurate and believable...  
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**I wanted to post this chapter now because 1. you guys are awesome readers and reviewers and 2. If I don't post it soon, I won't stop editing it and it will become something I don't want, need, or recognize.  
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**Enjoy! :)  
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_I know I should ask you, but everyone got scared. I just want to help you, but everyone got scared. I should have told you that everyone knows what they wished they had said. Now the back lights have broken and all that you built has come tumbling down. So don't try to hold it. You know you can always start over again." Jet, "King's Horses."_

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"That looks amazing, Garcia." Prentiss eyed the German chocolate cake with wide, lustful eyes.

"Thanks. I have been known to tempt a man or two with my baking skills." Garcia joked, placing the plastic cover back onto the tray. Prentiss licked her lips.

"I'm glad we decided to buy some groceries." JJ mentioned to the two other female agents from the refrigerator. She stood in the extended beam of artificial yellow light, hand on jutting hip bone, surveying the food she, Garcia, and Emily had just lugged up three flights of stairs. From her vantage point by the kitchen table, Prentiss saw the new container of coffee creamer, a loaf of bread, apples, lunch meat, condiment bottles, a block of cheddar cheese, a carton of eggs, and a container of orange juice. In the freezer, JJ had placed four bulging bags of freshly ground coffee beans.

"Do you we should have bought some vegetables?" JJ contemplated to her two coworkers. Emily stopped placing paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils onto the table when Garcia snorted.

"Seriously JJ? I think once he sees the massive amount of coffee you bought him, all that food will go to waste."

"Good point, Pen." JJ agreed. Finished with the utensils, Emily stared at the very colorful bouquet Garcia had just placed in the middle of the table. She recognized tulips, but none of the other flowers. The arrangement screamed "Garcia," but, Prentiss had to admit, it made the room, void of any human presence for the last few months, spring to life with immediate cheeriness.

Earlier, Prentiss had excused herself to go to the bathroom, only wandering to Reid's room when she was finished. On his nightstand, she had been surprised by the framed picture of the team. Or maybe, she realized, she was surprised to be included in that team. Emily took a moment to recall the day the picture was taken, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, the prickles of laughter, and the calm that had wrapped around the team, even for a few hours. Now, Prentiss realized, things were returning to normal. Whether it was the assurance of Reid's recovery, arrival, or the team's wholeness once more, she wasn't sure. Garcia's voice startled her reveries, bringing the kitchen and its occupants back to Emily's attention.

"Hey Em?" JJ was frowning into one of the paper bags. "Do you remember where the ribbon is? I thought we put it in here..." If JJ didn't look like she was about to burst into tears, Emily would have replied nonchalantly. Instead, she moved towards the media liaison, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and speaking softly when she replied.

"I'll find it, JJ. Why don't you take a break?" For a moment, the two agents met eyes before JJ nodded in agreement and headed towards a chair.

"There," Penelope stated to no one in particular as she set the last stem in place. "This looks much better now." She tilted her head to the side, smiling at her work. Although she was a bit nervous to see Spencer, she was excited nonetheless. It had been a long ninety days without him. More than once, she had been tempted to run to her car for a surprise visit, but she had to remind herself that emails were enough. Now, with Spencer inching closer and closer to his apartment, it felt right, as if the pieces of a puzzle were falling into place. Her family would be whole soon. The team knew she considered them her family, although Garcia suspected they all harbored that same feeling at one point or another. Whatever it was that made Garcia want to hold the team close, she didn't mind. Everyone would be together soon.

JJ sunk into an empty kitchen chair, watching Emily tie the newly-found bright red ribbon around the coffee maker the three female agents had purchased. They hadn't planned on buying a gift, but it was on sale, and, with its gleaming black body and practically transparent glass pot, it had been hard to resist. However, once they had arrived at Reid's apartment and seen the sad, overworked coffee maker on his kitchen counter, all three had agreed that their impulse buy had been warranted.

A piece of sunlight reflected of the glass, stationing light directly onto Garcia's flowers. The white walls became spotted with random refractions of color, and JJ felt her body easy from its tense state. She wanted this moment of unity to last forever. Visiting Reid some weeks ago had released her anxiety and guilt and, now, with his impending homecoming, JJ was relieved and ready to leave the past behind her for the team's sake and, mostly, for Reid's. She just hoped he'd feel the same.

"Where are Hotch and Gideon?" Emily asked, flicking her left wrist upwards so she could read her watch. "They should have been here a half hour ago."

"Maybe they're running late?" Garcia suggested from the sink where she had been washing her hands. For a moment, her eyes scanned the street outside the kitchen window, expecting to see Morgan's car pulling onto the pavement.

"Hotch is never late." JJ argued.

"This time, I am." Hotch answered on cue while walking through the doorway with Gideon in tow. The older agent maneuvered into the kitchen clutching a large box that, from the way the bottom pieces of cardboard sagged, appeared heavy. Emily jumped and, with Hotch's help, the three agents finagled the box into the living room, placing the cardboard container onto the coffee table.

"What the hell is in there?" Prentiss groaned, placing her hand on her lower back. Hotch straightened his posture, grimacing slightly. All four members of the BAU look at Gideon. Startled by the direct attention, Gideon's look darted to each one of the agents who were now stationed in Reid's living room.

"I figured Reid would like some new reading material, so Hotch and I went to the used bookstore." JJ opened the flap, spotting David Foster Wallace's _Infinite Jest _on the top of the pile. She reached for it, pulling the bound paper out of the cardboard.

"Isn't this like a thousand pages?" Gideon shrugged.

"It is," Emily said. "I read it once. It's pretty good, though, even if it is long."

"This should take Reid, what-" JJ placed the book back into its place. "About an hour?" Hotch chuckled. He was anticipating Reid's arrival on a number of levels. First and foremost, he longed to see his youngest agent's recovery. His last memory of Reid was his shaking frame as he fidgeting in an empty parking lot while the bright stars mocked his very painful, yet very real, revelation. Agent Hotchner also wanted his team to be whole again. Reid, and his brilliance, fit between Morgan's brute force and JJ's empathy just as much as he was the stoic leader and Gideon the wise expert. Even Emily had begun to find her niche, nudging herself somewhere between physical strength, quick intelligence, and stubborn willpower. Without Reid, the team had felt out of sync these past few months. Mostly, however, Hotch wanted the universe to stop spinning into some blurred form he no longer recognized. It was bad enough that they chased monsters around, but it didn't seem right that the monsters occasionally overpowered them. And it sure as hell wasn't fair that the monsters got to play puppet master with one of their own. When he thought about it, Hotch realized how exhausted he was from the constant struggle between right, wrong, and the overlapping shade of gray that was so often present in their line of work.

"Umm guys?" Garcia's voice brought Hotch back to the apartment. "It looks like we still have an hour to go. When Gideon and Hotch weren't here on time, I told Morgan to stall. Morgan just texted me. Apparently, Reid fell asleep and now they're at a diner, grabbing a bite to eat."

"So we're not late," Gideon emphasized, seeing the small smile etch onto a few member of the team's face. In the inner pocket of his jacket, which was now hanging in Reid's hall closet, was the leather journal. He would return it to Spencer tonight, but, right now, Gideon felt the weight of his betrayal burrow deer into his core. While he was anxious and relieved to have Reid return to the BAU and his life, he was also petrified that something fundamental had been lost. What if, during his time in rehab, Reid had become angry with everyone? _What if_, Gideon ruminated, _he thinks you should have figured everything out sooner? What if he's mad at you for not helping more? _Gideon sighed audibly, but softly, keeping his worry to himself. He'd have to deal with whatever emotional tour-de-force Reid had in store for him. It was fair if he was upset because, in Gideon's mind, he should have done something before Reid was whisked away. He should have acted before the talk with Hotch in a darkened hotel room, and he should have certainly done so before the short exchange in the New Orleans's jazz club.

"We can hang the welcome home sign," JJ suggested. With agreeing nods, the team member headed into the hallway. In a few short moments, the banner was stationed in the archway leading to Reid's kitchen. Each member awkwardly stood on the linoleum floor, staring at the now out-of-place bright flowers, the pristine coffee maker, and the covered cake. There was more silence until Garcia suddenly grabbed for her purse on a table chair, reaching into its depths for a large deck of cards.

"Poker anyone?"

"Sure." JJ shrugged, pulling a seat towards her. If they had time to kill, JJ figured, they might as well make use of it.

"We don't have any chips." Hotch pointed out.

"Loser has to do winner's paperwork for a week." Emily suggested, upping the ante with raised eyebrows. In a flash, the remaining three agents were seated as Garcia began to deal the white and red plastic-covered paper.

"I'd tell everyone not to cheat," Gideon mentioned. "But Reid's not here." Hotch chuckled, arranging his own cards secretively.

"Well," JJ replied. "He'll back soon."

"Then we better get started." Emily placed a card down in the middle of the table. Hotch met her play.

"Sounds good. This will probably be the only game where someone besides Reid will be the winner." Hotch said to his laughing teammates.

"Be prepared to be buried in my paperwork then." JJ taunted. Emily snorted.

"In your dreams." Gideon told the blond agent. Penelope watched Emily wiggle her eyebrows at Hotch, attempting to crack his deep concentration and serious poker face. The action, however, worked on JJ, who dissolved into a fit of giggles. Gideon even let his fortress down, chuckling in a deep baritone. Finally, Hotch broke.

"Watch it, Prentiss." He warned in an amused tone. "I have way more paperwork than all of you combined. You'll be buried for weeks."

"Well," she countered, arranging her cards mischievously. "That may be so, but I bet none of you have played cards with members of the Russian mob. Trust me, they know how to call a bluff." An uncomfortable silence fell over the room's occupants. Garcia eyed her teammates who, despite being some of the brightest, fastest minds in the FBI, could not deduce if Emily was kidding or was dead serious.

"She's worse than Reid..." JJ told the team. Gideon nodded.

"At least we can tell when he's cheating."

"I never said I was cheating." Emily sang, clearly amused.

"Russian mob, Em? Really?" JJ asked, sounding bewildered. Emily didn't speak, just smirked and leaned back in her chair.

"That's fair." Hotch decided. The team turned their attention to the unit chief. "I mean, after all, I bet none of you have had to dine with Strauss."

"Why would I want to?" Emily asked, disgusted. Hotch shrugged, reaching for another card.

"Sometimes," he began flicking his eyes to the group. "You gotta take one for the team." In the silence that followed, Hotch maneuvered his eyebrows suggestively in the way Emily had just done. Soon, the team was roaring with laughter.

"I really don't want to know, Hotch..." JJ joked, clutching her aching ribs. Hotch gave the team a quick, rare, and warm smile. He had been kidding about his alleged affair with Strauss, they knew, but it felt good to be so relaxed. Every once and a while, the unit chief realized, it was enjoyable, welcomed, and needed.

The game continued with more banter, laughing, and bluffing, and Garcia smiled at everyone. This was what she lived for, this togetherness, and she knew that the days ahead of the team would be filled with the good, the bad, and the downright despicable. However, they had each other, this much Penelope knew. And, for as many things she didn't know, Garcia realized that was okay. They'd find a way to put the pieces back together, and, if it so happened a piece was lost, discarded or broken along the way, they could improvise. They could lean on one another to bear the brunt of whatever whirlwind would come to pass.


	49. Chapter 49

**Hi everyone. I plan on uploading another chapter this weekend, but, for now, enjoy. :) **

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_"Whisper words of wisdom. Let it be." -The Beatles, "Let It Be."_

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Morgan eased the car into an empty spot between a pickup truck and a police cruiser. He had been driving for about an hour and the surroundings reflected the path leading down the mountain: towns were becoming more populated, the snow less dense, and the road easier to maneuver. When they left the rehab facility, Reid had started to speak, but hesitated. Sensing his fear (and feeling it too), Morgan told Reid that he could talk when he was ready. The younger agent nodded and turned towards the window and Morgan had sighed in relief. Reid's breathing became labored and even, and Morgan stole a glance at his napping colleague whose face was squashed against the window. Derek had leaned into the headrest and flicked on the radio, keeping the volume low. He did not know where or how to begin the conversation that both he and Reid were avoiding.

About an hour later, however, Morgan had to use the bathroom and his stomach was growling. Garcia's texts explained that Hotch and Gideon were running late. Although Morgan wondered why his usually punctual colleagues weren't on time, he knew a pit stop at a local dinner would be a great way to stall.

"Hey, pretty boy." Reid's eyelids didn't even flutter. Morgan nudged his Spencer's arm. Reid stirred, moving away from the interruption, pulling himself towards the passenger's side window.

"Time to get up..." Morgan tried again and Reid mumbled incomprehensibly, but didn't wake.

"Come on, kid. I gotta pee." Morgan pleaded. Still, the younger agent was fast asleep. _Alright then, _Morgan thought with a grin. _If you want to play that way, then it's on. _Morgan took a deep breath before bellowing in the small sedan.

"Yo Reid!" Spencer bolted awake, skin tearing off the glass.

"Wha?" Bleary eyed, Reid turned to face the noise that had yanked him from his slumber.

"Whadya want, Morgan?" Derek couldn't help but laugh. The left side of Reid's face was red from pressing against the window. A few strands of his long hair had escaped the elastic and were now curling in odd angles around his cheekbones. His eyes watered, and Reid blinked a few times until Morgan's profile came into view.

"How long was I asleep?" Reid turned towards the diner in an attempt to orient himself.

"About an hour, kid." Reid nodded, rubbing at his eyes with balled fists. The stress of leaving the rehab facility and seeing his teammates again had made sleep nearly impossible the past week. Admittedly, Spencer was both appreciative and relieved that Morgan hadn't pried just yet. They'd have plenty of time to talk soon, but he had needed a nap. Feeling refreshed, Reid stretched his tingling long legs until they reached the floor underneath the end of the dashboard.

"You hungry?" Reid's stomach growled, as if on cue. Morgan heard the slight rumble and chuckled, pulling at the driver's side door. With a woosh of cold air, Reid stood on the pavement, waiting for Morgan to walk around to the passenger's side before heading towards the diner's entrance.

"I could go for some coffee." Reid mentioned when they began walking. Morgan smiled.

"Why I'm not surprised?" Derek asked with amusement, shaking his head from side to side. The two agents entered the sparsely populated diner with a loud clanging of bells. A middle-aged, portly waitress waved from behind the counter and its spinning seats, hollering for them to grab a table. Morgan motioned to the bathroom, and Reid picked a booth in the middle. The painfully bright yellow curtains made him think of Garcia, and he smiled, knowing he'd be seeing her in the upcoming days.

"What can I get you?" The waitress asked, placing two sets of utensils and menus down on the plastic-covered table top. Reid ordered two coffees and two waters, opening the menu while he waited for Morgan. A twangy country song filled in the surrounding spaces, and Reid eased his tense muscles into the polyester booth. Nothing felt out of place. Nothing was wrong. In fact, Reid realized, everything seemed alright. He was alright. He smiled at the empty space across from him.

"Did I miss something?" Morgan asked, noticing Reid's grin and far-off stare. In the restroom, Morgan had texted Garcia, telling her they had stopped to grab some food. She had replied that the team was there and ready, so whenever they arrived was okay. Once his phone was securely fastened in its holder on his waist, Derek had smiled to himself._ How is it_, he thought, _that everything changed so quickly? _Morgan didn't know how to explain how comforting it felt to have Reid back in his life.

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"Again, I'm not surprised," Morgan teased while the waitress placed two steaming cups of black liquid onto the table. Both men placed their orders, falling into a comfortable silence as they fixed their coffees. Morgan watched with bemused interest as Reid emptied sugar packet after sugar packet into his increasingly light brown coffee.

"So, pretty boy, I don't know if I'm opening up Pandora's Box here, but what were you thinking about?" Morgan blew on the top of his coffee before taking a delicate sip. Still, the liquid was too hot, and Morgan felt the thin layer of skin on his upper lip scorch. He frowned, grabbing for his water.

"Actually," Reid toyed with a discarded straw wrapper. "I was thinking that this, right now, is the first time in a long time where nothing's wrong..." Spencer was afraid that Morgan wouldn't understand, but his face contorted in comprehension.

"I know what you mean. We're not chasing some unsub."

"There's nothing chasing me..." Reid whispered darkly, staring out the diner's window into the parking lot. Across the table, Morgan leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hand at the base of his neck. Reid's honesty had startled him. _Don't push him, _his brain warned. _He'll talk when he can. He just needs to know you're okay with that. He needs to know that you'll be there when he is ready. _Morgan watched Reid bite his bottom lip as he scanned the world outside the window in an attempt to avoid Morgan and the inevitable questioning he thought was headed his way. Morgan saw Reid subconsciously pick at his fingernail beds.

"Reid, listen to me." Morgan stopped, waiting for Reid's eyes to meet his. When he was sure he had his attention, Derek continued. "We don't have to talk about anything until you're ready. I don't care if that's now, tomorrow, or ten years from now. Whenever you want to talk, I'll be there to listen, alright?" In the silence that followed, Reid's eyes watered, and he dropped his gaze to the tabletop. He didn't crave Dilaudid, but something else was surging through his veins. When he looked up with a composed smile, Reid realized it was gratitude.

"Thank you." Reid whispered. Morgan nodded, waiting a few moments before speaking again. He took a large gulp of water to alleviate his suddenly dry, constricted throat.

"I'm surprised." Morgan sipped the coffee, which had cooled substantially. Reid raised his eyebrows, curling long fingers around his mug. "You haven't asked how the team is or about any of the cases we've had when you were gone. I was expecting that in the first five minutes." Reid hesitated-what if Morgan didn't know about JJ and Emily visiting? What if this information made Morgan upset? Reid knew he could lie, but he also knew Morgan would see through his facade. Fidgeting in his seat, he debated how to answer. To his shock, Morgan chuckled.

"I know JJ and Emily went to see you, kid." Reid's head shot back to Morgan's playful gaze. "I'd say baby girl did too, but something tells me she has another trick up her sleeve." Reid relaxed, shaking his head in disbelief. _God, _he thought. _I missed profiling and profilers._

"Alright, you caught me." Reid joked, hands in a mock salute. "Now spill." Morgan grinned, pushing against the upper portion of the booth so the waitress could place two plates of fries and two cheeseburgers onto the table. Reid concentrated on picking the onion, tomato, pickle, and lettuce off his burger while Morgan slathered his in ketchup and dove right in. Through mouthfuls, Morgan explained the past ninety days, stopping to let Reid add in his own bits of profiling. Although Morgan had been shocked by Reid's ability to formulate outcomes so accurately, he also realized that he had missed Reid's intelligence and awkwardness.

Throughout his meal, Reid had listened with an eagerness that he had missed. He was itching to return to the BAU. He wanted to profile. He wanted to use his intelligence for something other than his own well being. He wanted to spew statistics and theories so fast that he'd leave everyone in a wake of confusion. Most of all, however, Reid wanted to see his team. He longed for Hotch's deadpan stare, and Gideon's short, but loaded, wording. He wanted JJ's smile to warm a room, Garcia's optimism to bring light into his day, and Emily's witty banter to slap a smile on all their faces. He wanted to be part of the world he had left so abruptly when a man with a gun had told him to choose. Reid wanted nothing more than to start over in the place that made everything better.

He wanted to begin again in the place that made him better.

With the bill paid and the two agents on the road once more, Morgan reached for the radio. Outside the window, the winter sun had managed to break through clouds at odd angels, reflecting light in mismatched patches. Reid studied the landscape, spotting a flowing river yards away. He wondered if it was the same one that had been a mere trickle at the rehab facility. An old song came through the speakers, and Morgan stopped fumbling through the stations.

"My mom sings this song to me almost every time I see her." He laughed, shaking his head from side to side. Reid's ears perked at the familiar wording, and he reached for the volume dial, closing his eyes to remember.

_My momma told me when I was young. Said sit beside me my only son. Listen closely to what I say. And, if you do, it will help you some sunny day..._

"Actually," Reid began, smiling at the memory of Mike. "You're not the only one. This guy I met in rehab said that at our talent show before he performed this song." Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"Was he any good?"

"Yeah." Reid murmured. "He was."

"Did you perform too?" Morgan queried, trying not to pry, but curious all the same. Reid noticed the light tone.

"I did magic tricks, and unlike when I do them for the team, everyone appreciated them." Morgan snorted.

"Reid, most of your 'magic' tricks'," Morgan momentarily took both hands off the steering wheel to make quotation marks. "Are bottle rockets in the bullpen. We don't appreciate them because most of us think we're being attacked." Reid laughed, throwing his head back. The sound enveloped Morgan in a thick cover of warmth.

"Magic is an art, Morgan." He said in a fake snobby accent. Morgan laughed again and listened as Reid began rattling off facts about magic and magicians. Ahead of the two agents, the road sloped down the mountain. Soon, they'd be home. Nothing was wrong. They weren't afraid of every turn, every shadow, and they weren't holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable to come crashing down. The world, for once, was standing upright, and Morgan was glad to recognize that both he and Reid were too. Derek leaned back into the driver's seat, listening to Reid's rambled, familiar, and missed banter. In front of him, the road stretched outwards. _You'll be there soon. _Morgan thought.

"Hey Morgan?" Reid asked suddenly. Morgan flicked his eyes towards boy genius.

"Yeah, pretty boy?"

"When we get back to my apartment, can we...umm...can you..."

"We can rent a move if you want." Morgan suggested, understanding Reid didn't want to be alone. The thought made Morgan startle with worry, but it was immediately squashed by the realization the Reid had been separated from his friends, his only real family, for months. If their roles were reversed, Morgan wasn't so sure he would want to be alone either. Also, Reid had no idea that Morgan wouldn't be delivering him to an empty apartment.

"Awesome. I know-"

"Not Star Trek, Reid." Morgan pretended to be serious but he his voice broke with the strain of laughter. "Anything but Captain Kirk."

"Fine." Reid said, feigning anger. "How about something funny then?"

"Do you even watch comedies, kid?" Reid's face contorted into thought.

"I've always wanted to see Monty Python..."

"Alright, then. Monty Python it is," Morgan acquiesced. Reid nodded, smiling.

"Thanks, Morgan."

"Anytime, kid."_ He has no idea what's waiting for him, _Morgan thought to himself when Reid began talking again. Derek suppressed a wide grin while stealing another furtive look at the younger agent. _This should be good._


	50. Chapter 50

**This chapter marks two milestones for this story: I've received 300+ reviews and this is chapter fifty! Honestly, all of you have made this story possible. Thank you. ****On that note, this chapter may be the last 'happy' one for a little while and, yes, I am aware how cryptic that sounds...****I'm a bit nervous to unfurl this anticipated addition, but I hope it's enjoyed all the same. :)  
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_"And oh, sir, if you ever lose your way, you can call upon this family. You can call upon this day." -State Radio, "Indian Moon."_

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"We need to be careful." Agent Hotchner spoke to the team and four set of eyes met his dark ones. "This surprise may overwhelm Reid." Across from the unit chief, JJ bit her bottom lip. She had thought the very same thing earlier that day while shopping with Garcia and Emily.

"Don't pry too much. I know you're all excited to see Reid again. I am too, but he needs time to readjust to everything." Hotch knew the team was aware of his disclosure, but he needed to be absolutely clear that Reid would need to find his footing. Aaron understood that Reid, although recovered, could still be wavering between sobriety, doubt, and relapse. While he scanned the team, Hotch realized how nervous he really was.

Hotch's words settled heavily on the team. Emily nodded in agreement, JJ sighed and ran her hands through her hair, and Gideon avoided eye contact with a resolute stare at the floor. Only Garcia was distracted, as her attention was focused on the view of the parking lot. The team remained silent until the tech's voice broke through the weight of Hotch's address.

"They're here! Get the lights, Em!" Garcia's heels clinked off the kitchen tiles as she bolted from the window by the kitchen sink. Emily reached over and hit the switch so it was pointing down. Immediately, the room became covered in darkness.

"Wow." JJ said. "I didn't realize it would be this dark." She blinked until the room came into a muddled focus.

"No kidding," Gideon grumbled. There was a shuffling sound and Prentiss felt someone, or something, grab onto her.

"Who just grabbed my arm?" Emily asked with a twinge of fear outlining in her words.

"Sorry, Prentiss. That was me. I guess I thought you were the wall." Hotch apologized.

"What's this?" Garcia pushed down on the ground, which felt lumpy and not at all like the even tiles on the floor.

"That's my foot." Gideon winced in pain.

"Sorry, sir!" Before Garcia could continue her rambled apology, Hotch interrupted.

"I think I hear them coming." All five members of the BAU stopped talking, only to hear the muffled sounds of Reid's tangent floating in from the outside. JJ bit her lip to suppress a giggle.

"Sounds like nothing's changed." Gideon mumbled. The front door clattered open. Emily held her breath, listening to Morgan's uncharacteristically loud voice.

"We're finally home, kid!" Morgan barked. How Reid hadn't figured out he would be entering his own surprise party soon, Emily wasn't sure. Morgan's decibel was deafening.

"Wow," They heard Reid say from the hallway. "It's really dark in here." The hall light flickered on, casting a distant glow into the kitchen. Reid and Morgan's footsteps echoed off the walls as the two agents made their way to the kitchen. JJ saw Reid's long fingertips extend towards the switch and she almost reached out to him. Instead, she bit her lip to stop the giggles. Why did she always get them at such inappropriate times?

When the artificial yellow bathed the room in its glow, Reid was not prepared for the unified, loud "Welcome home!" He was stunned to see every member of the BAU smiling in his kitchen. He registered there was a banner a few feet above his head, something wrapped in a red bow on the counter, and, behind him, Morgan was laughing too hard to speak. Garcia snapped a picture, and Reid blinked, internally thankful that the bright flash hid his tears.

"You guys...surprise...you...why...I..." Reid gave up on words, breaking into a huge grin. Garcia, unable to wait another moment, grabbed the youngest member of the BAU into a crushing hug.

"Hi Garcia." Reid laughed. Over her shoulder, he spotted the colorful arrangement on the kitchen table. It was definitely Garcia's handiwork, and the sight made his smiler even wider.

"I missed you!" Reid, growing uncomfortable with the hug's intensity and his lack of oxygen, nodded. He managed to pry himself from Garcia's death grip with a wiggle towards his other female teammates.

"I should have known you guys would plan something like this..." Reid said in between hugs from JJ and Emily. "Actually, I have no idea how I didn't know."

"No kidding," Emily commented. "Morgan was practically screaming." Morgan rolled his eyes, smiling at Prentiss.

"We're good at deception." Garcia answered with a raised eyebrow that made Reid chuckle. The warmth flowing through him was one he hadn't felt in so long he had almost forgotten it existed. Admittedly, he didn't want to spend his first night home from rehab alone. However, the whole team was here. He was safe, loved, and protected. Never had he felt so included before.

Reaching Hotch, Reid hesitated with an outstretched hand. He owed his boss much more than handshake but it felt awkward to initiate physical contact. While he debated, Hotch gave the youngest member of the BAU a rare smile, pulling him into a hug that Reid was shocked and humbled to realize was fatherly. The two men met eyes, and Reid understood he wouldn't have to say thank you. He knew Hotch already understood how deeply grateful he was for his help. With his stomach burning in anticipation, Reid turned to face Gideon.

"Spencer." Gideon whispered. The other agents in the room stopped their excited chattering. Reid met Gideon's eyes, surprised to see a swirl of emotion. He looked at the floor, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Etched within the lines by Gideon's eyes was a feeling Spencer recognized too well: guilt. _He has no reason to feel that way. _Reid thought. _If anything, I should feel guilty for what I did to him and the team. _The silence was becoming unbearable_, _and Reid reacted before he had a chance to stop himself from pulling Gideon into a hug. When they released, the tension left the room.

"What took you so long!" Garcia asked Morgan, giving him a peck on the cheek before doing so.

"Pretty boy wanted to rent Monty Python." Morgan chuckled, nodding towards Reid, who was staring, mouth agape, at the pristine coffee maker situated on his kitchen counter.

"I'm pretty sure he's forgotten all about the movie..." Emily commented, watching Reid study the appliance with wide eyes. He bent down to the counter's level and reached for the pot, brushing the cool glass with delicate fingertips.

"Do you think he even knows we're in the room?" Hotch asked his team.

"Probably not." JJ countered.

"Hey, kid?" Morgan asked. "Tell us what you think about your new coffee maker." Reid stood to his full height and turned to face his team.

"It's beautiful." He said seriously. When the laughter died down, Garcia grabbed Spencer by the hand.

"We have some other things for you too." Reid nodded, unable to comprehend what was happening. What on earth had he ever done that made the team treat him so well? All the worry disappeared. This homecoming was more than he expected, but Reid felt appreciation for each one of his teammates well in his chest. If he spoke, he wasn't sure if he'd ramble, cry, or both.

"Emily, Garcia, and I did some grocery shopping for you because, let's face it ,Spence, you wouldn't if we didn't." JJ told him, opening the fridge to reveal a small bunch of food. "And," she continued while pulling on the freezer door. "We figured you'd need some fresh coffee for your new coffee maker." JJ grinned as Reid's jaw dropped.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" He joked to the media liaison with a traces of admiration and shock in his words. The team chuckled, and Garcia motioned towards the cake.

"I also baked you a cake." She pulled the cover up to reveal a pile of chocolate frosting. "German chocolate. You're favorite."

"I love you too, Garcia." Reid grinned wildly. Next to him Hotch laughed deeply, and the sound echoed off the walls. Reid couldn't remember the last time, or any time, when he heard Hotch so at ease and so, genuinely, happy. The thought made him smile at everyone once more.

"Th-" Reid began before Hotch interrupted.

"Actually, Reid. Gideon and I got you something too." Before he could protest, Reid allowed the others to lead him into his living room where a large box was on his coffee table. Perplexed, he pulled the flaps aside to reveal, at least, twenty books.

"We figured you'd like some new reading material." Reid wrapped his fingers around the nearest one, pulling a novel out of the pile.

"You also don't want me to sleep." He teased. From his stance leaning against the door frame, Morgan grinned. This moment was one he had been counting on for months. Reid was home and the team was whole once more. Morgan closed his eyes to compose himself, opening them again when Garcia spoke.

"So cake and Monty Python?" She asked her teammates.

"I am going to destroy that cake." Prentiss commented. Hotch raised his eyebrows.

"Destroy?" He queried. "That sounds a bit harsh..."

"Hotch," Morgan began, clasping a hand on his boss's shoulder. "Living with two sisters taught me _never _get between females and chocolate."

"Normally, I'd say that was sexist." JJ remarked. "However, it's so true." Laughing, the team squashed back into Reid's kitchen, busying themselves with paper plates, plastic utensils, and soda that Garcia poured and distributed to everyone. They returned to the living room and situated themselves on Reid's couch or floor. Morgan headed towards the DVD player and placed the disc inside.

"I'm sure I have a ton of spam emails..." Reid complained to his coworkers when he scanned the room and saw the laptop on his desk.

"I bet you that there's at least ninety in there." Garcia sang, grinning mischievously.

"Why ninety?" Reid asked while adjusting himself on the floor next to the couch and by Emily's feet. He felt Prentiss turn towards the tech analyst.

"Seriously Garcia?"The brunette asked with a trace of surprise in her voice.

"It's me, guys. What do you expect?" She commented with innocent, wide eyed.

"Can someone please fill me in?" Morgan asked his colleagues with a confused expression. Suddenly, Garcia's smile and shining eyes told Reid everything he needed to know.

"You wrote me ninety emails, Garcia?" He asked. Morgan's mouth hung open in surprise, JJ snorted, Emily laughed, and Gideon let out a low whistle. Hotch simply raised his eyebrows and shoved another piece of cake into his mouth. He had to hand it to Garcia, she made a delicious cake.

"Yup." Garcia beamed. "One for each day you were gone."

"Good luck with that, Reid." Morgan joked, shaking his head, clearly amused by Penelope's antics. A deep feeling of gratitude for Garcia flowed through Spencer's veins. She hadn't come to visit, but she had her own unique way to tell him how much she cared.

"It's a good thing you read fast." JJ teased. Reid chuckled and yanked the elastic out of his hair.

"Reid, I missed you and all, but you _so_ need a haircut." Emily joked as Reid inexpertly tried to fix his ponytail, missing errant pieces that curled around the nape of his neck. His long fingers attempted the maneuver again, but, apparently, Reid realized, ponytails required the same level of dexterity as chopsticks. Taking pity on his struggles, Emily gently pushed his hands away and titled Reid's head back, wrapping the band around his strands in one fluid motion.

"Thanks, Emily." Reid's hand went to graze the short stub. "Those are hard." JJ chuckled.

"I will never understand how girls do that so effortlessly..." Morgan told Prentiss, shaking his head in admiration and disbelief.

"You want me to call Eduardo?" Garcia asked through a mouthful of cake. "He does wonders." Hotch's surveyed Garcia's bleached-blond bob, which was accentuated with a fluffy, pink bow. He nearly chocked on his food when an image of Reid with neon pink hair came to mind.

"Actually, I was kind of thinking of keeping my hair long." Reid admitted. JJ sputtered on her soda, grabbing a napkin to wipe the bit that had dribbled onto her chin.

"Really, Spence?" The media liaison queried, trying to keep judgment out of her tone.

"What?" Reid asked, eyes full of innocence. "You guys don't think it makes me look bad ass?" There was a moment of calm before all seven members of the team broke into fits of laughter. When they finally stopped, Reid cleared his throat.

"Guys, really. This was..." He floundered, unable to continue due to the large ball of emotion lodged in his esophagus. Thankfully, his coworkers took the lead.

"Unexpected?" Garcia queried.

"Overwhelming?" JJ added.

"Brilliant?" Morgan chimed.

"Perfect." Reid smiled. "And a better welcome than I could have ever dreamed of. Thank you..." He trailed off, throat completely constricted, watery eyes downcast on the rows of wood that blended into one. In the silence that followed, Reid didn't dare move his head to meet his teammate's eyes. If he had, he would have seen Emily blinking rapidly at the ceiling to defuse her own tears. Morgan lovingly squeezed Garcia's hand when he saw saline dripping down her cheeks. JJ met Hotch's look with a small smile that he returned.

"I'll get the lights." Gideon told his team, feeling substantially more at ease. He'd worry about the journal before leaving, but, now, he was happy the team was happy. He was happy Reid was healthy. He, oddly, was happy.

"Watch out, Prentiss." Hotch teased. "You may be frightened again." Emily frowned at her boss and the smile lines dimpling his cheeks.

"It was dark!" She protested.

"You're afraid of the dark?" Morgan asked with a faint undertone of disbelief. He'd peg Garcia or JJ before Emily, but, then again, Prentiss never failed to surprise him.

"What's wrong with being afraid of the dark?" Reid questioned. From the couch, Garcia leaned forward and gave Reid's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"No." JJ said to Morgan, sipping her soda. "Emily isn't actually afraid of the dark. She's afraid of Hotch in the dark."

"Well, Hotch can be scary in the light." Gideon joked. Garcia let out a wave of giggles.

"I guess you're not as brave as I thought you were." Morgan teased. Emily rolled her eyes at the older agent, giving Morgan's arm a tiny shove. A portion of his cake fell onto his paper plate and he let out a growl.

"Do _not _make me spill this cake, woman." He threatened. Emily narrowed her eyes again.

"If you call me 'woman' again, you'll have more than spilled cake to worry about." She said sarcastically. Gideon raised his eyebrows. Although he knew Emily was joking, he had a feeling Morgan wouldn't try to see if her threat had some truth to it.

"What were you saying earlier, Derek?" JJ asked in a playful tone. "Something about woman loving chocolate?" JJ's eyes danced with light and Reid snorted. He knew both JJ and Emily were kidding with Morgan, but Derek, for a few seconds, had looked somewhat frightened by Emily's threat and JJ's words.

"Fair enough." Morgan put his hands up in mock surrender. Hotch couldn't stop his laughter and his sides bobbed up and down. Reid leaned into Emily's legs, internally thanking whatever higher being had granted him with such wonderful friends. Whatever anxiety he had felt about his homecoming had more than evaporated. He smiled at everyone, listening to their banter.

"Are we ever going to watch the movie?" Garcia asked with faint traces of laughter still outlining her words. Morgan nodded, head turning towards Gideon, who was still standing next to the light.

By the light switch, Gideon slowly inhaled and exhaled. This feeling of togetherness was what he had lived for, flying through the years with a very real sense that each case and unsub was destroying him in irreversible ways. However, in this moment, Jason Gideon realized he felt more alive now than he had at any other time in the past few months. He smiled, watching how Morgan reached to press play. When the movie began, Gideon pushed the small lever so it was facing downwards. The momentary darkness subsided, and Gideon moved towards his team, taking a seat among the people he was lucky to call family.


	51. Chapter 51

**This chapter is dedicated to 'Prieva' because she mentioned it was her birthday a while back and I never got her a gift! Sorry it's not a tangible one, but happy late birthday all the same! Thanks for always taking the time to read and review this story.  
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**And, as always, the rest of you readers and reviews are amazing. I'm so incredibly humbled by how receptive you all have been. I know I say this all the time, but, seriously, thank you.  
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**Enjoy! :)  
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_"I live my life like a burning man." -Third Eye Blind, "Burning Man."_

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"Are you coming Jason?" Hotch hesitated in the doorway leading to the outside. It was late, and the cool winter air seeped inwards. For a moment, Gideon's throat went completely dry. This was it. He licked his cracked lips.

"I'll meet you in the car." Hotch nodded towards his team's oldest and youngest member, closing the door softly behind him. The team had "destroyed" Garcia's cake and laughed at Monty Python, only disbanding when yawns reached all of their lips. JJ, Garcia, and Emily left together, while Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon lingered behind. Because they had carpooled and because Hotch sensed Gideon's unwillingness to leave, the two agents cleaned the small pile of paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils while Morgan had pulled Reid aside. Although Hotch hadn't heard him ask, he was almost positive Morgan told Reid he would sleep on his couch if he wanted. When Reid had smiled and said no thanks, Morgan tousled Reid's hair in a brotherly manner, calling goodbye to his male coworkers with a loud yell and pull of the front door.

"Thank you again for the books." Reid said once he heard Hotch descend the steps leading from his apartment to the parking lot. A palpable tension enter the room. Moments earlier, he had basked in the glow his team created; however, now, standing with a visibly nervous Gideon in his apartment's foyer, Reid felt something shift. Heaviness returned, and Reid silently wished Gideon would leave. He wanted to feel overjoyed to be home-not empty and detached.

"You're welcome, Spencer." Gideon's voice was husky, and it wavered where it shouldn't. Reid tried to meet the older agent's eyes, but was not surprised to see his downcast gaze. Gideon fidgeted with the zipper on his coat, reaching into the inner lining with trembling fingers.

"This," Reid saw the familiar black book in Gideon's outstretched hand. "Is yours." Jason paused, watching Reid's eyes enlarge. The older agent took a deep breath, but it did nothing to ease the rockets of nerves in his stomach. Reid finally reached for the journal, taking it gently, as if it was breakable and fragile to the touch. His eyes remained on its leather cover, although Gideon wished Reid would glance upwards so he could see the apology etched within his expression.

"This," Reid finally spoke so softly that Gideon strained to hear. "Was never supposed to anyone else's." Jason swallowed deeply, bracing himself for the inevitable blow.

"This was always mine." Reid met Gideon's stare with an oddly composed one.

"My journal was under my pillow. I have no idea how you found it, or why you took it, but I'm hoping you had enough respect for me, and for our friendship, to not read it?" His statement, although flat, was phrased like a question. Gideon sighed, rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

"I know it wasn't mine to take, Reid. But please, just hear me out-"

"You read it?" Reid's voice was rising in surprise, anger, and, if Gideon's quick profile of the tone was correct, fear.

"Spencer, I-"

"Please tell me you didn't read it..." Reid pleaded, bottom lip quivering. Any decent feelings he harbored from the night were suddenly squashed. He knew what he wrote. He remembered the desperation he felt as his pen flew across paper. He also knew that Gideon hadn't been aware of those thoughts, desires, and emotions. What he scribbled incomprehensibly during blinding highs was fuzzy to recall, even for Reid. Those memories were ones he wanted to keep tucked away from the team, especially from his mentor. Now, however, Reid felt his stomach sink.

"Just let me explain...please..." It was Gideon's turn for a whispered plea, and Spencer bit his bottom lip. He _would not _let Gideon see how upset he was. He was supposed to be stronger now-not the same weak agent who could barely pass a gun test and who splintered the instance situations became overwhelming and cases hellish.

"Please do." The voice that left Reid's mouth was harsher in tone than he anticipated, but rage was quickly replacing his dejection. _Gideon had no right,_ he seethed.

"When you left, I felt responsible. It's no secret that I've helped you become an agent, Spencer. You know this, I know this, and the team knows it..." Reid nodded, cheeks darkening, as he glared at the wooden floor.

"I don't see why that's relevant." Reid shot.

"I've always helped you..." Gideon murmured. "I've always tried to help you." Reid clenched his free hand into a fist before releasing it. _Would I have become an agent take an interest in me? _He asked himself. _Am I even capable of doing anything on my own? Is my brain the only reason I'm in the BAU at all?_

"And, suddenly, I was in this situation where things had spiraled out of control. You were sinking and I couldn't help, Spencer. I tried, but I didn't know what to do..." Reid retorted before he had a chance to filter the words.

"How about _asking _me, Gideon? Did it ever occur to you that I _needed _and _wanted _your help, even if I pushed you away, flat-out lied, or couldn't verbalize it? You can't tell me you didn't recognize how badly I was suffering. Did you ever think that a few abstract words wouldn't be enough?" Reid's chest rose and fell in large heaves and his fiery look shot daggers straight through Gideon's defenses. This reaction, and Reid's harsh, yet truthful words, were what he feared. Gideon felt overwhelmed by shame.

"I made mistakes, Reid. I made them with you, with the team, and with myself. I wish I could rewind and change what happened to you during and after the Hankel case, but I can't. Trust me, if I could, I would fix everything. I'd change it all." Reid snorted in disgust, holding the leather journal upwards in his shaking hand.

"However inadequate or lost you felt didn't give you the right to read my personal property, Gideon." Reid didn't want to be reacting so hotly, especially after how receptive and wonderful the team had been, but, at the moment, anger was stronger than any of his other emotions.

"I know, Spencer. I know." Gideon's voice wobbled, and he stared at the rows of wood as the blended from a series of boards into a unified shape.

"I wanted, I _needed,_ you to visit." Reid admitted, tone and voice suddenly lowered and filled with a mixture of hurt and rage. Gideon's raised his eyes to meet Spencer's burning look. "When I was in rehab, I really wanted you to visit so I could explain everything to you."

"I-" But Reid interrupted his mentor before he could interject another excuse into their conversation.

"Actually," he scoffed. "I felt pretty ashamed because I failed you. When you didn't visit, I figure it was because rehab was a reminder that I had let you down."

"You _never _let me down or failed me." Gideon emphasized. "Not once. Not ever." He swallowed deeply, unable to stop the tears from streaming down his face. The water collected into the folds of the age lines that Reid had never noticed before. Reid didn't blink, and Gideon felt his heart sink.

"Clearly," Reid cleared his throat. Shame swelled and tears threatened to push outwards from the pool behind his lids. "I did. If I hadn't, you never would have felt the need to read this." A thick silence hung between the two men, and Reid kept his eyes locked forward. He refused to show any sign of weakness or hurt. _Show him you're strong. Show him you can do this by yourself, _his inner voice instructed.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. Truly, I am." Reid knew Gideon was speaking honestly, but, even though he wanted to forgive the man who had taught him so much and had invested so much time and energy into his career and well being, he felt a deep sense of betrayal wrap its familiar chains around his heart. Old walls were rising, and Spencer would be damned if he let someone else walk all over him. He had traveled too far and suffered too long to give in so easily.

"I'd like you to leave. I'll see you Monday at work."

"Spencer-"

"Now." Reid said through gritted teeth in a tone that offered no room for rebuttal. Gideon broke Reid's gaze with a curt nod, turning to fumble with the door knob. Without another glance behind him, he shut the door, only leaning against the slab when a racking sob overcame his body. On the other side of the closed opening, Reid allowed a few tears to stream down his face. He heard Gideon's breakdown and, although the realization was heartbreaking, Reid could not will himself to forgive him just yet. He waited to move until he heard Gideon's heavy footsteps clunking on the building's steps.

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"What took you so long..." Hotch trailed off when he saw Gideon's tear-stained cheeks and crumpled composure. Even though the car was pleasantly warm, Gideon sunk into the passenger's seat, numbed not from the cold, but from his exchange with Spencer.

"I fucked up, Aaron." The unit chief's brow crumpled into confusion and the old, too familiar feeling of dread formed deep within his stomach.

"What happened, Jason?" He asked, keeping his voice flat and even. Gideon sighed, running a rough palm over his face. When he spoke, he kept his hand at his eyes, covering any new tears that Hotch suspected had formed.

"Remember that journal we found in Reid's apartment?" Hotch nodded and closed his lids because he knew what was about to be unearthed.

"I came back one night and read it. I took it with me because I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to help..."

"There was nothing you could have done, Jason. Reid needed to help himself. You know that." Hotch kept the judgment out of his tone, but he could feel anger rising. He had warned Jason that Reid's journal was his private property. Why had he betrayed the team's youngest agent? Gideon knew, perhaps more than anyone, how few people Reid really trusted and how long it took to gain his full, undivided trust.

"I felt responsible, Aaron. I should have done more to help the kid, but I let those feelings act for me. I should have visited him, or written a letter, or done something else."

"How do you think Reid feels right now, Jason?" Hotch asked in the same composed tone. "He trusts you, he looks up to you, and he's in a vulnerable state right now, even if he's healthier and stronger than he has been in months. He's scared that he can't be who he was, confused about how he's supposed to act around everyone now, and overwhelmed with returning back to his old life, particularly because of everything's that happened..." Hotch stopped because he knew, if he continued, his introspection into Reid's psyche would become a reprimand aimed solely on Gideon's glaring act of treachery.

"I'm not a fool," Gideon paused to shoot a knowing look at the Unit Chief. "I know what I did was wrong. I know I lost Spencer's trust." Hotch sighed, suddenly weary.

"I don't have to tell you that you're going to have to work at rebuilding that trust. You know Reid, Jason. He's not going to rebound quickly and he certainly won't while he's readjusting to being back at the BAU and back with the team." Oddly, Hotch's words, although anticipated by Gideon, relieved him. He leaned into the seat-back, closing his eyes to garner a strand of composure.

"I'm getting too old for this, Aaron."

"For what?" Hotch asked, although he knew. When his fingertips tingled and his heart quickened its pace, he knew. At times, he felt the very same way.

"For this," Gideon opened his eyes, weakly gesticulating his hands at the dashboard. "For this constant battle we're fighting. If you and I were to stop running around for just one second and if we were to take a look at the time behind us, we'd realize we're losing. We have been for years, Aaron." Hotch felt his lips press into a thin line. Never in all his time working with Gideon had he heard the older agent, who he respected and revered, talk with such negativity. Looking back months later, Hotch knew it had been a sign, a quick foreshadowing even then, but, now, sitting in the darkened car, he tried his best to slip in the only advice he knew Jason would understand.

"My grandfather used to tell me that the 'years teach much which the days never knew.'" Hotch said softly, wanting to edge a sense of hope into his dejected colleague. Gideon sighed, looking out the car window at Reid's third floor apartment. He thought he saw the long profile outlined by lamp light in a window, but, when he squinted again, the curtains were still drawn, creating a barrier between Reid and the outside world.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson." Gideon said to Hotch with a nod of his head. In the silence that followed, Jason Gideon knew he would not sleep that night. He also knew he'd return in the morning after Reid had attempted to sleep. He'd offer an explanation and he'd allow Reid to slam the door in his face or listen.

"Drinks?" Hotch asked, twisting the key in the ignition so the car was no longer idling.

"Lead the way." Gideon said, never taking his eyes off the road.

* * *

From his apartment window, Reid watched the short exchange. He had no idea what Hotch and Gideon were saying, but, with bubbling anger, he knew it would be about what had just transpired between he and Gideon.

_How could he? _Reid raged, clutching the journal in his fist. _This is exactly why trusting others never works. You should have kept everything to yourself. You should have never allowed your personal and professional lives to mix so much. _

Reid stared at the journal, feeling the weight of his drug abuse, words, and anxieties. Then, without understanding why or how, he was in the kitchen, digging through a junk drawer that was brimming with take-out menus, discarded and unused chopsticks, and outdated manufacturer's coupons. In the back_, _he found the blue lighter. Reid flicked the metal gear with his thumb, watching as it clicked and then ignited into a long flame. Feeling numb to the tears streaming down his face, Reid swore at Gideon, stationing himself above the kitchen sink.

Reid's memories merged into one as he brought the flame to the bottom left corner: _There's only one shot in that gun, boy. You're not all that hard to profile. Tell me it doesn't help. He's using God to justify murder. You are not responsible for this. I knew you'd understand. I guess the day this job stops gnawing at your soul and your hands stop feeling cold, maybe that's the time to leave._

"Liar." Reid grumbled to the empty kitchen. His angry voice reverberated off the wall, slamming back to him at deafening levels.

The journal caught quickly, congealing the leather first before burning the pages. Reid watched as his looped penmanship morphed into ashes. He tried to hang on as long as possible, dropping the flaming journal into the kitchen sink when the fire scorched his fingertips. With a rush from the faucet, the journal became a pile of soggy, clumped black flakes. Reid stared at the sodden heap with detachment before heading to his bedroom. Fully clothed, he curled into a ball in the center of his icy bed.

In the apartment above him, footsteps paced back and forth, from one to side to the next, and Reid listened to the patter, hoping it would help soothe his anger. Instead, Reid couldn't help the sobs from rushing forward. Whatever feelings of joy he had harbored just mere hours earlier, were now dislodged, scattered around his room like broken shards of glass. He wanted to believe he was a stronger person. He tried to tell himself he was, but the raw feeling overwhelmed him until his limbs were shaking and his vision blurred. The familiar urge twisted in his gut, seeping to his veins, pumping plangent thumps through his body. Things had not changed. He had not changed. The world had tricked him, and, now, Reid realized with a surge of misery and tears, he was still alone. And the only thing he could manage to do was curl into a tighter ball and cry.

So Reid cried.

He cried for what happened during the Hankel case. He cried for Tobias, his fanatic upbringing, and his lifeless body on the cemetery grass. Reid cried about his addiction, the people he had hurt, the confusion he had caused, and the mistakes he had made. He cried for the trust he had bended into thin, unrecognizable forms, and he cried for his inability to stop it all. He cried for the betrayal he felt over Gideon's actions, the burned words, and for the love and warmth he felt earlier that night. He cried for the past, the future, and for the closure he still knew he needed. He cried because he wanted to go upstairs and score a hit from the college neighbor. He cried because he longed for nothing other than the euphoric sensation only Dilaudid could provide. If anything was going to change, Reid realized through chocked sobs, he'd have to do it himself.

And, when he was exhausted from crying, Reid pulled the covers over his trembling body. Maybe, he hoped, morning would be better. Maybe, he prayed as his lids closed, he'd be better.


	52. Chapter 52

**Hi everyone! Because I think this chapter is a bit odd, I wanted to post it sooner rather than later. Also, it may be a bit upsetting for some. Thank you for being the best fanfiction readers and reviewers! :) I'll be posting a more substantial chapter this weekend.**

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_"People are strange when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly when you're alone. Women seem wicked when you're unwanted. Streets are uneven when you're down. When you're strange, faces come out of the rain. When you're strange, no one remembers your name." -The Doors, "People Are Strange."_

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_"Hotch?" Reid called down the long hallway, which was rolling with fog. It was so thick he couldn't see his own shoes. His gun remained anchored to his hands, arms straight and pointing towards the ground as he crept forward._

_"Hotch?" He called again. Why had they separated? And where was the rest of the team? Why the hell was he always alone?_

_"Pretty boy?" Only one person would call him by that nickname, and it definitely wasn't Hotch. Spinning into a doorway that rose from the mist, Reid entered, arms now fully extended. _

_The room was as white, too white, as if he was standing under a very bright, powerful examination lamp. The severity sent waves of pain through his brain. Reid groaned, dropping his defenses to shield his eyes._

_"Morgan? Are you alright?" He managed to ask. "Where are you?"_

_"I'm right here!" Morgan sounded calm, but his voice told Reid otherwise. It was the tone of someone in trouble, but someone desperately trying to hold everything together. It was a infliction Morgan often used to keep order in place when it was needed, and Reid was grateful he had become skilled at detecting this subtlety. Grinding his teeth, Reid became rigid once more, forming the stance he had been taught during his training. The very same stance Morgan had helped him perfect during their years working together._

_He took a few steps forward, still unsure what he was walking on because of the thick fog and the painful white light. Just when the room seemed to end, Reid stumbled, nearly falling over. He caught the wall with one hand and it morphed to bricks. The sterile surroundings disappeared and he was outside, yet still enclosed in a room._

_"Reid..." Morgan's voice was close, so much closer than it had been before, but it was weak. Reid looked at his feet only to see the crimson waves of red covering most of Morgan's body. Where it was coming from, he couldn't tell, but Reid dropped to his knees almost instantly. His hands fumbled over Morgan's shoulders and chest._

_"Morgan..." He chocked, "Don't worry. I'm going to help you. Just concentrate on staying still and awake." Morgan slowly closed his eyes before opening them again. He tried to meet Reid's gaze, but Reid avoided his look. Reid knew he wasn't able to employ the protective canvas that Hotch had mastered so many years prior. Morgan, Hotch, and Emily were better at this self-protection than he was, but the situation wasn't good. If Reid didn't stop the bleeding soon, Morgan wouldn't live much longer. He couldn't let his coworker, one of his best friends, see his fear. He titled his head towards the blood, which was now coating his hands in a thick layer._

_"Just tell me where you're hurt..." Reid's hands were stained and he wanted to wipe off the red, start over, and take a deep breath. Instead, he resisted the urge to scream._

_"He's worse now..." Morgan groaned as Reid reached for his side, finding the deep hole. What the fuck happened? _

_"Who's worse, Morgan? The unsub?" It hadn't occurred to him until then that he had been searching for an unsub, but, now, the prospect made complete sense._

_"You should know he's worse. It's been bad, kid. Real bad." Reid furrowed his brow in confusion, attempting to stop the heavy flow from the small hole. He didn't know if the bullet, or whatever had punctured Morgan's skin, was still inside._

_"I know." Reid nodded, pretending. "I know it's been bad, but we'll work through it, alright?" Morgan shrieked in pain when Reid's hands pressed downward once more._

_"I'm sorry, Morgan, but I have to stop the bleeding." Morgan nodded with tears pooling at his cheekbones. Reid had never noticed how pronounced they were before._

_"Where's your phone? Call Hotch and tell him that you've been hurt." Reid didn't know why he hadn't thought of this earlier and he wanted to reach for his own phone, but his hands were needed elsewhere. As if Morgan had been electrified, he jumped, yanking at Reid's wrists._

_"You have to get out of here, Reid!" Morgan was frantic, pushing his hands away. He tried to sit, but only reached an odd crunch-like state before flopping back to the ground._

_"I won't leave you like this!" He protested. Morgan shook his head._

_"Find them...Find the rest of the team, kid." An icy cold overwhelmed his body. Where was everyone? Hadn't he been looking for Hotch just moments prior?_

_"Morgan..." Reid tried placing his hands on Morgan's wound once more, but it had increased in size. Unbelievably, the small hole had become gaping. "You need help. I'm not leaving you...I can't..."_

_"You have to, Reid." Morgan spoke through gritted teeth. "You're the only one who can fix this." Reid wasn't sure if he meant his injuries or this extremely fucked up situation._

_"Mor-"_

_"Go Reid! Please," Morgan was begging and Reid hated the sound. He pulled back, stopping on his knees._

_"I'll come back for you, Morgan. I promise." Reid couldn't stop his throat from closing. Morgan gave him a weak smile, one that Reid had seen on too many victims before, and he understood that he'd be back, but Morgan wouldn't be the same. Nothing would. He was walking away before he had a chance to look behind him. There were more rooms to search._

_And, apparently, there were more bodies to find._

_Prentiss was four rooms over from Morgan. Reid found her on a bench that was overlooking a set of mountains. When he timidly rounded the corner, he saw her far-off gaze, vacant eyes, and cold fingertips. He also didn't fail to notice the single gunshot hole blasted into her forehead. He pressed both his fingers to her neck, but was not surprised when he didn't feel the uniformed tapping. He stood for a moment, staring at her empty expression, wondering what had happened and what had gone so terribly wrong. Yet, before he left, Reid grabbed her credentials. He wasn't sure why._

_JJ wasn't far either, just down the hall, but her body was pristine. No cuts. No marks. Nothing to explain how or why she died, but, somehow, the life had left her. The empty room offered no clues, and Reid hollered in frustration and grief. Why was he too late? Who or what was he supposed to stop? Rage pumped through his blood and he turned to leave, but something made him pause. Turning once more, Reid stopped to cradle JJ's cold body in his stained hands, crying into the golden waves of hair that smelled like lilacs. He added her credentials to Emily's, nudging forward with the sense that he wouldn't like what came next._

_He smelled the remnants of flames before he entered the room. Garcia's body was burned beyond recognition, but pieces of scattered, colorful fabric told him it was her all the same. The coils that were wrapped to her limbs extended from a tower of computer monitors that adorned the entire far wall. Although Reid nearly gagged at the smell of her singed flesh, he thought that, maybe, just maybe, Garcia dying among electronics was an appropriate fate. He avoided looking at her disfigured corpse and, instead, focused his attention on the strewn bits of color splattered in odd places around the room. The cheeriness didn't match the starkness surrounding him, but, then again Reid realized, neither did Garcia. Instead of taking her charred credentials, he pocketed an untouched hair ribbon. It just seemed right._

_"Hotch!" He bellowed in the hallways, wondering what calamity had befallen the unit chief. Admittedly, the dread in his stomach was growing. By now, three of his coworkers were dead, Morgan had bled out, and Hotch was nowhere in sight. Reid was certain he wouldn't find his boss alive._

_"Hotch! Can you hear me?" Spencer was both relieved and horrified when Hotch's calm, collected voice echoed from a nearby room._

_"In here, Reid! In here!" His feet couldn't keep up with the rest of his body, and Reid stumbled through a door frame. The fog, he quickly realized, was not fog, but smoke billowing outwards from a small fire burning in the corner. The floor was made of old, uneven wooden slabs that creaked in protest with his every step. Hotch was tied to a chair, and, although he looked beaten, he was alive. Unlike the rest of the team, Hotch was alive. Reid ignored the surge of numb as he rushed to help his boss._

_"What happened?" He queried, yanking at the ropes binding Hotch's wrists together. Once freed, Hotch lowered his head, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Reid's stomach rocketed again. Had he ever seen Hotch look so dejected?_

_"You don't know?" His voice was composed, but there was a darkness weighted inside._

_"I don't know. I have no idea, but I can help if you let me." Hotch chuckled bitterly, shoulders shaking, as he brought his head level once more. It was then that Reid noticed Hotch wore one sock, had one bare foot, but his usual black shoes were nowhere in sight. Why this unnerved him, he couldn't tell._

_"What do you know, Reid?" Hotch worked at rolling his right shirt sleeve towards his wrist. Reid watched the crinkled fabric cover Hotch's forearm._

_"Morgan's hurt, Hotch. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are...dead." He managed to say. Hotch visibly flinched before meeting Reid's eyes._

_"I'm not surprised. He's stronger now." Hotch said, rubbing his sore wrists with the fingers of his opposite hand._

_"The unsub?" He asked, wondering when he'd understand. Forgetting who or what he was chasing never happened to him. Actually, Reid realized, he never forgot anything. Ever._

_"No." Hotch shook his head, standing to his full height with Reid's help. For the first time, Reid realized he was taller than Hotch. He slouched to avoid towering._

_"I can't believe you haven't figured it out by now." Hotch's eyebrows met in the center of his forehead._

_"What's going on, Hotch?" Reid felt the anger rising, but, deep down, his body had grown cold. The kind of cold he always felt before things went irreversibly wrong._

_"It's stronger, Reid." Hotch finally said. "We tried to help you, but, as you can see," Hotch motioned to the odd room they were standing in, "It became too powerful."_

_"Who...what...are your referring to, Hotch? I can't figure this out without any clues." Hotch nodded, reaching for Reid's pocket. In a flash, he had the hair ribbon and Emily's and JJ's credentials._

_"This is proof, Reid." Hotch said with a trace of sadness, shaking his head side to side in obvious disappointment. "You knew it was becoming too powerful. You knew how destructive it would get, but you let it manifest. You could have done something..."_

_"Wait," Reid blinked rapidly to align his thoughts, "You mean I'm the reason why Morgan's hurt and JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss are dead?" Hotch smiled, flashing his white teeth in a crazed crescent that made Reid's flesh prickle._

_"Exactly. We tried, Reid. We really did, but it was too strong."_

_"I can make it right!" he rushed. "Just tell me what this 'it' is, Hotch. Tell me so I can fix it." Hotch shook his head, eyes focused on something in the doorway. Reid turned, gun reflexively extended once more._

_"It's too late, Spencer." The familiar, mumbled voice said. "We're all too late."Jason Gideon stepped from the shadows, edging into view. His face was scratched, as if clawed by some wild animal. Both his eye sockets were eggplant purple and swollen. Reid swallowed, watching how the deep marks cracked and Gideon winced._

_"Did...I.."_

_"Yes."_

_"I'm sorry." Reid felt his eyes brim with tears. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else..."_

_"But you did." Hotch's voice came from behind him, and Reid spun once more._

_"You know I'd never do this, Hotch." He pleaded for understanding, but the blank expression on Hotch's face told Reid that the man didn't even register his words. "I'd never..." Hotch silenced him by holding up the credentials and ribbon from his deceased female colleagues. Had he really caused their deaths? How come he couldn't remember?_

_"Hotch, I don't know what happened or how...I can't remember."_

_"That's because it was too strong," Gideon offered from the door way. Reid let out a frustrated growl._

_"What the fuck happened? Can one of you please tell me?"_

_"Look at your hands, Reid." Hotch said. Reid did was he was told. His palms were stained with Morgan's blood, and the sight burned his eyes. He tried rubbing his hands against his pants, but the crimson color stayed. He pushed furiously against his cords, but the color became darker. The more he tried, the worse it became._

_"That won't work, Spencer." Gideon told him, sounding bored with the conversation. "You can't erase what's been done."_

_"But I can try to be better..." He protested weakly, shooting a pleading look from Hotch to Gideon. To Reid's surprise, Hotch smiled._

_"Then prove it."_

_"I don't know how. What do you expect from me?"_

_"We expect," Gideon growled, circling Reid like a wild animal stalking its prey, "That you do what you have to do. You're smart, Spencer. You know there are things left to do. There are gaping holes, so to speak." For the first time, Reid wished that Gideon would be more upfront. His abstract wording made everything all the more jumbled. _

_"Start with what you know." Hotch encouraged, although his tone was less than supportive. Reid squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Morgan, the blood, and Derek's cryptic message. How and why was he the only person responsible for this destruction and its end?_

_"I'm not sure..." He debated. Hotch's eyes narrowed in his direction._

_"There's always a reason." Gideon mumbled, sounding more like he was speaking to himself than to Reid. "We do everything for a reason."_

_What did I do that's so horrible? How did I make this mess?" Reid's voice was rising with each question, and, if he could hear his unfurling panic, he knew both Hotch and Gideon could too._

_"For a genius, you're not too smart." Disgusted, Hotch shook his head from side to side. His lips molded into a fine, white line._

_"What?" Reid could barely see through his watery stare. His oscillating feelings, this conversation, and the smoking fire were not a good combination for his tear ducts._

_"I didn't kill them..." Reid whispered. He couldn't stop his tears. This wasn't right. Nothing was right anymore._

_"Maybe not." Hotch debated, "But maybe you did. In the end, Reid, we're all alone. We're the only one who gets to see our own downfall. It's only fair, you know." Now Hotch was the one talking in abstracts. Reid's brain was beginning to pound a painful rhythm against his skull._

_"You're saying, if I understand you right," he attempted to comprehend, "Is that it's not fair to drag others down too?" Gideon jumped, as if electrified by some unforeseen current._

_"Now you get it!" Reid's face twisted into confusion. Taking notice, Hotch began to chuckle, but the sound was void and hardened._

_"You chose me, Reid." Hotch said, laughing manically. "I have to admit, we were all surprised when you picked me over Morgan or Gideon."_

_"Yeah," Gideon chimed, now standing on the side of Reid that wasn't occupied by Hotch, "I really thought you'd pick me." He remarked, squeezing Reid's shoulder in a way that should have felt reassuring._

_"Guys..." Reid's voice left him when the familiar silhouette appeared by the fire, as if from the fire. Suddenly, the "it" made sense. Reid tried to run, but Hotch was faster, yanking Reid's gun away. The metal clanked across the floor, landing in front of the adjacent wall. Soon, there were rough hands pushing him onto the chair he had freed Hotch from just moments earlier._

_"No! Stop! What are you doing? Hotch! Gideon! He's right there!" But his hands were tied. Hotch and Gideon stepped back to his sides, flanking him as the figure approached._

_"We have to get out of here!" Reid screamed, comprehending that his two coworkers, probably the two he most respected, had just tied him to a chair._

_"Sorry, Reid." Gideon said with a facial expression that told Reid he was anything but sorry. "But this is for your own good."_

_"Hotch?" Reid whispered. The unit chief's eyes flickered to the team's youngest member before staring straight ahead with soldier-like precision. And, when the familiar man bent to his level, grabbing his right arm and shoving his sleeve up to the elbow, Reid realized it was a trap. There was no way out. No one would save him this time._

_"It's alright," Gideon told the hesitating form, "We'll make sure he doesn't escape this time."_

_"No...please..." Reid tried to beg, but his voice was a cracked whisper._

_"Tell me it doesn't help." The voice sang. Reid screamed. The needle plunged downwards and the world became a distant haze._

_

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_

Reid bolted upright, screaming, face slick with tears, and covered in a layer of cold sweat. He concentrated on working his lower body free from his tangled sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body shook, and, instinctively, Reid reached to the familiar folds in his elbow, half-expecting to feel and see the small injection point. At the touch, he stomach heaved, and he rushed to the bathroom, narrowly missing vomiting in the toilet by a mere matter of seconds.

"It was just a dream..." He mumbled to himself, falling backwards from his heels to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest as his tailbone dug into the hard tile floor. The pain reminded him of his own body, so Reid pressed harder. What had happened? Resisting the urge to be sick again, Reid recalled the strange dream, its weird fog, bloodstains, and Hankel's all too familiar needle. What had Hotch said? It was stronger now?

"You're okay." Reid reassured himself, feeling the tremors work their ways to each one of his extremities. The sensation felt too much like withdrawals, and Reid buried his face in his shaking palms, trying to make sense of everything.

Morgan wasn't hurt, his female coworkers weren't dead, and Hotch and Gideon hadn't ambushed him. He wasn't responsible for anyone's death or downfall. After a few silent repeats, these facts became tangible. Reid grabbed the edge of the bathtub, hoisting himself upwards. Both of his hands rested on either side of the sink and he looked upwards, startled by his own reflection.

His hair was skewed, sopping with sweat, and plastered to his damp forehead. In the fluorescent light, his skin appeared translucent and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Reid sighed, letting his head roll forward. The tense muscles at the back of his neck stretched, but did not give. When he spoke, Reid stared into the sink basin.

"It was just a dream about Tobias. He's dead. It wasn't real." His voice echoed off the walls, causing Reid's arm hair to prickle. _This isn't over yet, _he thought. _You need closure and you know there's only one way to get that. _Reid sighed again, ignoring the thought while moving towards the shower. The water came on with a rush of steam, and Reid shuddered at the looming memory of fog.

The hot liquid stung his bare skin and Reid tilted his head back, allowing the water to wash away his nightmare, Gideon's betrayal, and the months behind him. The warmth eased his tense muscles and Reid stood, immobile, allowing the pleasant sensation to relax his hyperactive nerves. _You've been back a full night and you're already having nightmares, _he internally berated. _That didn't take long. _But the dream, even with its obscurity, felt so real. Hotch's deadpan stare, Gideon's garbled words, even Morgan's warning-why had the feelings it evoked been so poignant and raw? Would this loop never be over? Reid shook his head, flinging water droplets to each side of the shower. Would he ever be able to put this behind him? Would he ever understand?

"You know what you have to do, Spencer." It felt odd to be speaking aloud to himself, mainly because his mother often did so during an episode, but Reid also know he didn't even feel remotely crazy. In fact, with the warm water pulsating onto his body, his thoughts seemed more lucid than they had been as he struggled between tangled sheets. Reid reached for his shampoo bottle and poured a nickel-sized dollop into his withered palm. For a while, he concentrated on scrubbing his too-long hair, rinsing the product, and continuing with his other showering rituals. The routine slowed his racing mind and, by the time he stepped out of the shower on the fluffy bathmat, he knew what needed to be done. Reid made a mental list as he dried his body and yanked clothes off the hangers in his closet.

He found the familiar messenger bag by the front door and Reid rushed around his apartment, shoving his FBI credentials, overnight clothes and toiletries, his cell phones and chargers, and a book into the bag. In the kitchen, he made a few pieces of toast with a thin layer of butter. His stomach still felt too queasy to ingest anything heavier. With a pained look at his new coffee maker, Reid vowed to use it when he returned. By the front door, he pulled on his fleece, grabbed his keys from the hook, and headed for the bus stop across the street. He would go, make his peace, and be at the BAU on Monday before anyone noticed he was gone.


	53. Chapter 53

**Hey there FF readers. I just wanted to say thanks to all of you. I really appreciate all the time you've all taken to read this insanely long story of mine, and I also really appreciate all the introspective, kind, and amazing reviews, alerts, adds, and messages I've received. Enjoy the next chapter! Ironically enough, I'll be traveling in the upcoming week and I'm not sure when the next one will be posted.**

**Happy reading :)  
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_"Say what you say. Say it so well. Just say you will wait, like snow on the rail._ _I've been combing the train yard for some kind of sign. Even my own self, it just don't seem like mine."_

_ -Gregory Alan Isakov, "3am."_

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_

As predicted, Gideon did not sleep one nanosecond that night, and he hadn't even bothered to try after having a few drinks with Hotch. If restless pacing and absent-minded channel surfing was penance for his behavior, then Gideon worked the two like they were a rosary and he was hunched over a wooden pew. When he finally couldn't take it any longer, Gideon fumbled around his home for his car keys, wallet, credentials, phone, and fleece jacket. Once in the possession of all five items, Jason stomped to his car. Whatever battle Reid had in store for him was fine, but he could not sit with himself, and his blatant betrayal, much longer.

It was a chilly morning and pockets of fog floated inches above the ground. His footsteps echoed off the pavement, resounding off his apartment building's brick makeup before thudding back to his ears. Most of the cars in the lot were covered in a thin layer of mist, and Gideon sat for a few moments in his vehicle, shivering as the heater spewed cold air before it jump-started to life with blasted artificial heat.

"Reid," Jason said aloud to the empty car. "I know you don't want to see me or want anything to do with me, but we need to talk about this..." _Too cliche, _his brain warned. Gideon cleared his throat, practicing his speech again.

"I know you're upset with me, Spencer. I know I lost your trust. I know it will take a while to gain that trust back, if ever. We can't pretend that this didn't happen, though. It will interfere with work and with the team..." Gideon growled in frustration, banging his fists against the steering wheel. The car swerved into the left lane, and Jason tipped it back with a slight flick of the wrist. Thankfully, it was early and no one had been driving next to him.

"That'll work, Gideon. Make him feel guilty and unable to do his job. That's all he needs." He mumbled. _What would you want to hear in that situation? _He asked himself.

"I'd want a frank admittance of wrongdoing." He confessed. "And I'd want to know that the person was genuinely sorry. I'd also want my feelings to be validated..." Gideon trailed off, sighing deeply. He knew better than most how Reid would belittle his own thoughts and emotions. He'd somehow warp Jason's actions, however wrong, into his responsibility.

"Why'd you do it, Gideon?" He questioned himself. The empty, increasingly warmer car, provided no answers that Gideon could salvage. When his stomach growled, Jason acquiesced to its demands, pulling into a parking spot located next to a coffee shop. He wasn't ready to go to Reid's just yet. He wasn't ready to face himself just yet.

It was warm and inviting in the tiny cafe. Gideon stood, inhaling the refreshing scent of ground coffee beans and baked goods. It was still early, but there was already a small line. Jason waited behind a tall man in a rumpled suit, debating if he should get more than one muffin. Figuring Reid would enjoy something sweet, Gideon ordered two blueberry, one corn, and one chocolate chip. With two coffees warming each hand and the bag of baked goods shoved under his arm, Gideon headed back to his car. It was cowardly to arrive at Reid's with gifts, but, lately, Jason Gideon did not feel like a strong man.

At a red light, Gideon sipped his hot coffee delicately, watching how morning commuters streamed out the full bus parked on left side of the road. The train station was also to his left, and Gideon wondered where everyone was going. Were these travelers heading to some far-off home they'd left without a glance behind them? Were they preparing apologize to some lover or friend? Mostly, however, Gideon realized, many were heading off to work. Because it was a weekend, Jason saw mostly construction workers with plastic lunch boxes, cleaning woman wearing practical shoes and head wraps, and bleary eyed, probably still drunk, college kids donned in a variety of retail uniforms. Gideon studied the strangers a bit longer, allowing the momentary distraction from his upcoming apology. The last occupant off the bus was tall, lanky, and carrying a messenger bag that looked very familiar. Jason blinked, straining his eyes. The bag looked too familiar.

"What the hell..." He mumbled, already reacting without registering his hands on the wheel or his foot on the gas peddle. When the light switched to green, Gideon drove straight, turning into the parking lot with blinding speed. It wasn't too full, and he swerved into an empty spot, shoving the car in park, and twisting the key to the side with so much force that his fingers jammed into the steering wheel. However, the pain didn't stop him and, soon, Jason was jogging to the station. If he let Reid out of his sight too long, Gideon knew he'd lose him for good.

"What are you up to, Spencer?" He mumbled to himself, shoving the door to the station open with a surge of noise and warm air.

The once-full bus made the station bustle with activity. A Starbucks line broke through the rush and, reflexively, Gideon scanned the coffee-wanting patrons for Spencer. When he didn't spot him, he turned towards the ticket counters, hoping that Reid hadn't already disappeared behind the spinning bars that led to the platforms. Unlike the rest of the station, the ticket windows weren't too crowded. Jason moved closer, squinting until he saw a familiar sight: Reid's messenger bag was sticking out of one line. He was at a window, shoving his wallet into his back pocket. Unwilling to be seen just yet, Jason dove behind a pillar when Reid walked just a few feet away. For a moment, the kid stared at his ticket before glancing to the departure boards. In a few long strides, he headed towards Gate E. With a quick glance around, Gideon jumped the spinning bars and took quick steps to catch up to Reid.

And it was one hell of a game of catch up. Had Reid always been this tall and moved this quickly? And since when did he walk so erratically, dodging and weaving around garbage receptacles, benches, potted plants, and display boards? Periodically, Reid stopped, studying his ticket for reassurance. During these moments, Gideon tried to duck behind the nearest covering.

"What are you doing, kid?" He asked Reid in a whispered breath. On cue as if Spencer heard, he stopped, back rigid and shoulders hunched. Gideon slammed to a stop when did. Before he had a chance to hide, Reid spun on his heels. They both men studied each other from across the room. Reid tilted his head and, without being sure if he or Reid took the first step, they were face to face.

Jason studied Reid's freshly shaven cheeks and chin, dark purple eye circles, and thin, cracked lips. The kid's eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been crying all night. With a pang of guilt, Jason realized he may as well have been. Reid cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, but did not meet Gideon's contemplative gaze. Around the two agents, the loud-speaker crackled to life, announcing new arrivals and departures. From somewhere in the station, a baby wailed. Gideon blinked, but the station and its occupants did not come into focus.

"I have to say," When he finally spoke, Reid's voice was calm and even, unlike how it had sounded hours earlier, "I didn't think you'd be able to keep up with me." Gideon tried to suppress his dumbfounded look, but his surprise didn't go unnoticed by Reid's innate ability to read facial expressions.

"I saw you at the red light when I was on the bus. I knew you'd see me if I was the last one off because that light is notoriously long. Actually," he mentioned, "It's about three minutes long, which is about two and a fourth minutes longer than most of the lights around here." Gideon didn't know whether to rejoice or cry. Reid was quoting statistic, profiling him, and, to his complete shock, actually talking to him as if the events of the previous night had not occurred.

"Where are you going?" Gideon asked, sputtering out his words in one breath. Reid raised his eyebrows at the question.

"Nowhere important. I'll be back before work on Monday."

"So just an overnight?" Jason pried. Reid met his stare with a resolute one, tilting backwards slightly, as if to physically distance himself from Gideon.

"That's none of your business." The defensiveness Gideon had expected emerged, but it felt different. Reid still sounded angry, but he wasn't livid. The kid wasn't good at staying mad, especially if it was directed at people he cared about. Knowing he could ignite Reid's anger, Gideon pushed.

"Wherever you're going, why don't you let me take you there?" Reid didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed.

"That's not necessary. I already bought my ticket anyway." He held up his hand and the laminated paper flapped back and forth. Jason resisted the urge to snatch it from his long fingertips.

"Come on, Reid. It's the least I can do. Please, I owe you." It was the closest to an apology Jason could manage to muster for now. If anything, he figured the kid was heading the next state over. A few days earlier, he read in the newspaper about a scifi convention. No doubt, Reid wanted to bathe in sheer geekdom before returning to the BAU.

"Fine." Gideon was surprised at the lack of argument and he stood, momentarily quieted. Why had Reid agreed so easily?

"I'm going to try and return my ticket, but why don't you get your car? I'll meet you out front." Amazed, Gideon nodded and both he and Reid walked silently forward, separating at the ticketing booths. Halfway to his car, however, Gideon's brain started working. What if this was just an elaborate trick? What if Reid lied and was now boarding a train for wherever it was that he was planning on going? Feeling the old well of guilt in his stomach, Gideon quickened his pace, reaching his car when a thin line of sweat formed at his hairline.

But Reid was there, messenger bag and all, fidgeting in front of the station. When he spotted Gideon's car, he climbed in, placing his bag on the floor before carefully folding his long legs into the passenger's seat. He didn't immediately reach for his buckle and Jason took notice, shifting the car into park.

"Is this mine?" Reid asked, reaching for the coffee in the passenger's side holder. Jason nodded. He had forgotten all about stopping a half hour earlier.

"There are muffins too." Gideon nodded towards the paper bag situated on the console between the two agents. Reid eyed the offering, but did not reach for it as he had with the coffee. Digging into his pocket, Jason groped for a handful of sugar packets.

"Here. I thought you'd like more sugar." Reid took them with a curt bob of his head that reminded Gideon of Hotch. He watched as the kid pinched the cardboard cup between his knees, tore into five packets at once, and dumped the stray crystals into the container. With the cover soon returned to its place, Reid took a long swig. _This isn't right, _Gideon registered. _Something is definitely wrong here. _Reid was sipping coffee and sitting patiently, as if he didn't have one thought in his mind. Gideon knew the kid's brain never stopped and, suddenly, it made sense: Reid was calm. Too calm. It was the kind of calm that told Gideon that Reid was downright petrified.

"So, Spencer." He began. Reid didn't budge his eyes from his intense stare at the dashboard. "Want to tell me why you're so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous."

"No, you're not." Gideon agreed. "You're absolutely terrified right now." Reid blinked rapidly.

"Bringing coffee and muffins to my apartment is a smart trick." Reid profiled, his tone dropping a few notches. "It's also a sign of guilt. You wanted a way in and you figured that you'd try to make amends with caffeine and sugar."

"Reid-"

"I have to admit," he scoffed, "You know me well. You're right, you know. I'd probably would have let you inside." For the first time in a long time, Gideon cursed himself for being correct.

"Reid, we need to talk about what happened." Reid's eyebrows furrowed at a point in the middle of his forehead.

"Talk about what, Gideon? The fact that you read my personal journal? Or about the fact that I had a drug problem and went to rehab? Or how about we just talk about everything Hankel did? Let's just get it all out in the fucking open!" This time, Gideon was the one blinking to diffuse his surprise at Reid's anger and word choice.

"I guess not just about those things, Reid." He admitted. It felt weird, but Gideon knew something else was becoming unearthed. Something he'd been avoiding for months. Sooner or later, he realized, he'd have to let Reid know that he was losing his grip. Sooner or later, the job would get to him. Sooner or later, he'd be the one leaving suddenly-not Reid.

"What was it, then?" Reid fired, showcasing some of the rage Gideon suspected he still harbored. "Did you think you'd go to my apartment hiding in a Trojan coffee and muffin horse and all would be forgiven?" Jason sighed, rubbing his hand at the base of his neck. He could feel the accusing burn of Reid's admonishing stare. It took all of his willpower to glance upwards to meet the fiery look waiting for him.

"I dunno, Reid." Even to Gideon, his voice sounded exhausted. Reid noticed too and his expression softened. In the brief moment of silence, Gideon heard the faint, distant sound of an approaching train.

"I don't know what I expected or wanted, but I couldn't wait until Monday morning." Reid sighed this time, leaning back into the seat while closing his eyes. Jason's gaze flicked to Reid's long, trembling fingertips wrapped around his coffee cup before returning to stare at his flushed cheeks.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" He finally asked. Reid's eyes opened, but did not turn to face Gideon.

"I haven't forgiven you yet. It will take a while." He said in a composed tone, although Gideon sensed that Reid's walls were beginning to crumble.

"That's fair, Reid." The younger agent nodded at Gideon's words.

"I'm still really pissed at you." Reid said, his tone far softer than it had been. Jason could tell he was broken. He also had no idea why this realization made him so scared.

"That's also understandable." He appeased. Reid pursed his lips together, tightening his grip on the cup. A thin veil of silence curtained the two men. When Gideon spoke, he tried to use a gentle voice.

"Where are we going, Reid?"

"Drive south." Reid ordered as he placed the cardboard coffee cup back in its holder. Jason didn't budge when Reid twisted towards the window to buckle his seat belt. He fumbled for his own, pushing the metal into the holder with a loud click.

"I need better instructions than that, Spencer." He told the young man. For a moment, Reid's eyes filled with tears. Surprised, Jason watched his stoic expression morph into a pained one. Reid look down, exhaled, and brought his eyes to meet the older man's. The collected tears were gone, but the scared, lost look had stayed. Jason locked his gaze, unable and unwilling to break away in fear of losing even the slightest bit of trust Reid still had for him.

"Where are we going, Reid?" Gideon repeated in a low, even tone. Reid look became distant and Gideon's stomach turned and twisted in anticipation.

"Georgia." Reid said with a blank expression, turning towards the passenger's side window. "We're going to Georgia."


	54. Chapter 54

**Hey all! Sorry this update has been somewhat late. I was traveling and too tired and busy to do so until today. At this point, I have a few more chapters written, but I think I can confidently say that this story is beginning to head towards some type of end. As always, thank you for being the best fanfiction readers and reviewers ever. I know this isn't the obvious next chapter, but that will be posted soon enough. Happy reading! :)**

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_"Everyone here's to blame. Everyone here gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain. Everyone hides shades of shame, but, inside, we're the same. And we've all grown now, but we don't know how to get it back to good." -Matchbox Twenty, "Back 2 Good."_

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"You're where?" Agent Hotchner asked in disbelief. Startled by the tone of surprise in his boss's usually controlled voice, Morgan stopped, mouth open, scrambled eggs precariously balanced on his fork. He barely noticed when the heap tumbled off the prongs and landed with a splat onto his plate.

"I heard that, Jason, but _why _are you and Reid there?" Hotch stressed, placing his fingers in a triangular-shaped based on either side of each eyebrow. Morgan watched Hotch massage his temples.

"Hotch?" Morgan whispered. Aaron pretended he didn't hear the younger agent's questioning.

"Why would you even _think _that's a good idea, Gideon?" Hotch sounded mad, but that couldn't thwart Morgan's futile attempts to figure out what, exactly, was happening with his two coworkers. Moving in his seat and burning with curiosity, Morgan whispered Hotch's name again. When Hotch failed to even flinch, Morgan flicked the unit chief's forearm. At the touch, Hotch raised his eyes, shooting Morgan a burning look he knew too well.

"What's going on?" Morgan hissed. For his efforts, he received another glare before Hotch returned his stare downwards.

"Are you sure that's the best idea, Jason?" Hotch queried into the phone, attempting to spare his tone of judgment. Across the table, Morgan saw his brow furrow. Derek felt like a young child promised an ice cream cone on a hot summer's day: He wanted to know what the hell was going on and waiting was excruciating.

"Alright, fine, but be careful." Hotch nodded his head, like Gideon could see the motion through the phone line.

"I'll see you on Monday." Hotch paused, like he wanted to say more, but snapped the cell phone shut instead. Earlier, when Hotch had asked Morgan to breakfast, he mentioned that he needed to discuss something. Morgan was almost positive that whatever it was had been replaced by Gideon's phone call. Hotch exhaled slowly, and then, without missing a beat, he picked up his fork and knife and cut into his stack of pancakes.

"Really, Hotch? The older agent raised his eyebrows at Morgan's query but said nothing, preferring his syrup-drenched food to speaking. Morgan's eyes narrowed, staring at Hotch's jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt. If anything felt out of place, it was Hotch's lack of usual professional attire.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Morgan." Derek smirked, diving into his eggs once more.

"So wifey number two just called to chat?" He joked. Hotch sent a look that, under different circumstances, would mean he was contemplating killing Morgan.

"Please never let me hear you say that again." Hotch deadpanned.

"Fine." Morgan grinned. "What did Gideon want?" Hotch stopped with food halfway to his mouth. When the phone rang, Aaron didn't think twice about answering. He figured JJ called Gideon about a new case and the man was passing the information along, doing his part in the team's understood phone tag hierarchy. What Hotch did not expect was Gideon's rushed, mumbled words and his cryptic description of his and Reid's journey. What the hell had he been thinking? Lately, Hotch realized, Gideon's behavior had become more and more erratic.

Hotch eyed his colleague before sighing again while placing his fork onto his plate. The metal made a slight ping against the ceramic and the noise grabbed Morgan's attention. Sensing Hotch's demeanor shift, Morgan straightened his posture.

"What is it? Are Gideon and Reid okay?" Hotch's eyes fell to the table before meeting Morgan's.

"They're both alright, but Gideon and Reid are on a little road trip." Admittedly, Hotch was reluctant to reveal where his two colleagues had gone. As far as he could tell, Gideon was on some quest to set things right with the young agent and Reid was spinning in circles, attempting to find some form of closure. The problem with that notion, Hotch understood, was that closure wasn't always helpful. Sometimes, it sent you right back to the very place you left behind.

"Where the hell are they going? Reid just got back last night..." The tension in Morgan's voice told Hotch that he was becoming increasingly worried. And Hotch knew from experience that Morgan was a highly charged, confrontational man when he was anxious, particularly if that concern was focused on someone he cared about. Hotch took a deep breath before revealing his teammates whereabouts.

"They went to Georgia, Morgan." Derek couldn't help it when his eyes enlarged and his hand instinctively made a fist around his dining utensils. _Reid and Gideon are where? _His brain screamed.

"Please tell me there's some kind of nerd festival and Reid begged Gideon to take him..." Morgan tried to joke, but his throat closed. Hotch gave Morgan a knowing look, albeit a softer one than he had directed in Morgan's direction just moments earlier.

"I don't know what the hell they're doing, Morgan." He admitted in defeat, shoulders sagging and hunched forward. "I just hope Gideon knows what he's getting himself into." Morgan rubbed a hand at the base of his suddenly rigid neck.

"There's only one reason I can think of that would make Reid want to go to Georgia and I thought that ended three months ago." Morgan stated. Hotch nodded, resisting the angry urge to throw something, mainly his sharp silverware, at the wall.

"Gideon and Reid had an argument last night." Morgan choked on his orange juice. He was living in some time warp: First, Reid and Gideon were on a road trip together, but only after they fought? _What the fuck is going on? _Derek asked himself.

"_Reid _got into a fight with _Gideon_?" He questioned incredulously. "I can see him yelling at me or even you before Gideon. He worships him practically." Hotch huffed under his breath.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that anymore..." The minute he spoke, Morgan's head shot upwards. Hotch regretted his last statement, which had left his lips before he could contain the words. He hated when his composure broke and, more accurately, he hated his inability to control its breaking point.

"What did they argue about?" Morgan queried, pretending not to notice Hotch's dark tone or discomfort. Hotch visibly tensed, and Morgan watched him fiddle with his wedding ring while he debated how to answer.

"A few months ago after Reid left and asked me to tend to his apartment, Gideon and I were there and Gideon found Reid's journal." Morgan nodded, stabbing at his eggs. Hotch pursed his lips together before explaining what he knew would be stressful news for Morgan to hear.

"Gideon went back to Reid's apartment later on and took the journal."

"Don't tell me he read it, Hotch." The unit chief didn't answer, but Morgan knew. From Hotch's silence, clenched teeth, and angry expression, Morgan knew Gideon had betrayed Reid's trust.

"Is he fucking crazy?" Morgan asked too loudly. A few tables behind him, a waitress stumbled, catching her footing and a teetering, scalding pot of coffee. Hotch sent an apologetic look in her direction.

"Look, Morgan." Hotch said, keeping his voice even. The sound alone seemed to calm Morgan, who's grip around his fork loosened its intensity. "I don't know why he chose to read his journal and I sure as hell don't know why he and Reid decided to go to Georgia-"

"You have an idea, though." Morgan interjected. Hotch's face was twisted into deep thought. It, oddly, reminded Derek of Reid's expression right before he began spewing statistics and theories at blinding speeds.

"I think that when everything with Reid..." Hotch paused as images on the bridge, in the Georgia cemetery, and in a dark parking lot overcame his senses. Taking a gulp of water to relieve his parched throat, Hotch noticed how the cool liquid seeped from the back of his throat, down his esophagus, and collected in the bottom of his stomach.

"When everything with Reid came to the forefront," he continued, "Gideon was shocked and upset, like we all were, but he also felt guilty."

"We all did." Morgan offered. Hotch nodded pensively.

"Yes, but Gideon's different, Morgan. He views Reid as a surrogate son. He knows he tried to help, but he was surprised when he realized he couldn't help Reid this time. He couldn't fix Reid's addiction, Morgan, and it was eating him alive..." Hotch leaned into the seat-back, wondering why he himself hadn't seen Gideon's overwhelming guilt. _You were dealing with your own guilt, _he reminded himself.

"There were other ways to go about helping Reid, though, and reading his journal wasn't one of them." Hotch nodded at Morgan's rebuttal, picking up his discarded fork once more.

"I know, Morgan, but Gideon's stubborn. He'll try to help no matter what, no matter the cost, even if he loses pieces of himself in the process." Hotch shoved lukewarm pancakes into his mouth in order to stop talking for a few moments. Morgan sipped his coffee, watching his boss over raised eyebrows. He seemed more relaxed than he had been moments earlier, but from his snow-white grip on the fork, Morgan sensed the Hotch was still recoiling from everything that had just been revealed.

"Well," Derek said, "I can't say I don't feel the same way.

"Me too." Hotch sighed, and Morgan felt the heaviness.

"But that's why we all do this job, Hotch." Morgan began. "We can't just sit there and do nothing. We all want to help so much it's killing us. We're a bunch of bleeding hearts." Aaron chuckled at Morgan's words, smiling slightly.

"What worries me the most is Reid's reasons for going to Georgia." Morgan sighed at the unit chief's words. He was tired, exhausted even, of the constant ups and downs the job required and demanded. Hotch's frank disclosure wasn't helping him in the slightest.

"Gideon's going because that's where Reid wants to go. He's doing it as an apology. It's the only way he knows how to make amends with Reid." Hotch profiled. Morgan's head bobbed in agreement.

"But Reid..." Hotch trailed off, coffee mug still in hand. He fixated his gaze on the glass pane and at at the gray morning outside the window. Aaron tried to stop the deluge of memories from overwhelming his senses, but he remembered Reid's rain and tear-soaked face highlighted by the angry currents swirling below. If Morgan was upset by this declaration, Hotch knew he'd hit the roof if he revealed his early-morning bridge talk with Spencer. The unit chief bit his lip, keeping his emotions at bay. Whatever was at stake felt monumental and, currently, his mind couldn't stop the oscillating, conflicting feelings. Sensing Hotch's tenuous hold on his usually unwavering composure, Derek hid his surprise. It was rare Hotch let his guard down, but, Morgan understood, they were all human. The table shifted slightly when Derek rested both elbows on the the glass-covered top.

"Hotch." Morgan's voice was soft and Hotch's dark orbs shifted to the younger agent. "Reid's going to Georgia because he needs closure. Yes, he went to rehab. Yes, he's sober, but he's still confused. He still doesn't know what he's doing, what this new found sobriety means, and he needs to find his place inside it all. He needs to know he's stronger than he was. Like Gideon, he needs to make things right..." The two men shared a knowing look before Morgan pushed against the upper portion of the booth. From the burning feeling in his stomach, he knew his profile was correct. Every member of the team needed closure in one way or another over something that had happened, hadn't happened, almost happened, or would happen. Their world, Morgan understood, was always unfolding, rocketing towards the inevitable end.

"You're worried that Reid's not ready for this trip?" Morgan asked. Hotch nodded at Morgan's confident tone, sighing once more.

"Sometimes closure doesn't help..." Hotch spoke quietly, and Morgan listened. Whatever Hotch was remembering, it was not Reid, Gideon, or even their current conversation. However, Morgan knew not to ask. Hotch never spoke without reason. If he shared, it would be a surprise. Most likely, Morgan realized, he wouldn't. _We all have our secrets, _he reminded himself.

"I just don't want Reid to throw away all the work he's done." In Morgan's mind, the gears turned and clicked into place. He rushed ahead before he lost the courage.

"How do you know Dr. Paul Batalini? How did you know where to send Reid?" Hotch nodded, still staring through the window. His gaze fell on a plastic bag blowing through the parking lot. When it caught on a bolt of a handicap parking sign, Hotch returned his attention to Morgan.

"When I was just starting out in the FBI, there was a young psychiatrist performing a study on high risk individuals."

"High risk?" Morgan asked. Hotch nodded at the table.

"He was specifically interested in people who became FBI and CIA agents, law enforcement officials, special ops, and the like. He was fascinated by the idea that people would sacrifice their own lives and, in particular, their own emotional well being to help others, especially during moments and times of intense, dangerous conflict." _Emotional well being, _Morgan repeated silently to himself. Later on, maybe after a trying case or an abnormally slow day, he'd check in with his own feelings, but he also knew it was rare his sat with himself, and his own emotions, very long.

"He wanted to know why people desired such dangerous jobs?" Morgan asked. Hotch nodded as confirmation. Morgan had to admit, what had this man said to Hotch about his personality and his career choice? He didn't dare ask.

"He published a few books, opened a private practice, and eventually started his own drug rehabilitation clinic specifically focused on helping government, military, and law enforcement officials." It was Morgan's turn to nod.

"And you remembered him?" Hotch met Morgan's gaze.

"You know what made me remember?" Hotch suddenly chuckled, shaking his head side to side.

"On the way home from a case following the Hankel one, Reid was reading one of his books on the jet. Well, pretending to, but I put two and two together that night and I made a vow that, if Reid needed help dealing with that particular problem, then I'd send him to the best." Morgan found this insight oddly funny, and let a few bits of laughter escape his lips.

"Do you think Reid even realized he read this guy's book?"

"Hardly. I think he was too preoccupied." The smiles faded from both expressions when the two agents realized the enormity of what could have been a broken situation. It was rare Reid failed to notice anything, especially something he read.

"Why did you ask me here?" Morgan asked, surveying the half-eaten food, discarded mini creamer containers, and empty sugar packets. Hotch ran his hand over his tired face before answering.

"I was going to ask you to keep an eye on Reid." When Morgan's eyes lit in protest, Hotch put a quick hand up to stop the inevitable argument.

"Not like before, Derek. I just wanted to make sure he was adjusting to being back. If he was having difficulties, it would, most likely, be you he'd turn to, not me or Gideon. He respects us, but I think Reid looks to you for guidance. You're like an older brother to him." Morgan broke Hotch's stare, focusing on the table with watery eyes. A surge of pride welled in his chest. _You are that person for Reid, _he thought.

"Hotch," Morgan stopped to clear his constricted throat. "What if..." He stopped, unable to voice the insecurity he desperately needed to confront. Hotch met Morgan's eyes, comprehending in his own silent way.

"If he relapses, Morgan, we'll do what we can. It's a very real scenario, I know, but we just have to give Reid the space he needs right now." Morgan nodded, still fighting his emotions. He hated how right Hotch was. He hated the entire situation.

But he understood. Time would be the ultimate test, as it always was. It was always the notion of patience and waiting that frustrated Derek, but this wasn't his path to walk. His demons were different, but Morgan knew a thing or two about the journey. He knew how the road could veer off-course, and he vowed that he'd help Reid if that time came. Until then, Morgan realized, he'd have to trust the kid to use his strengths and admit when he was lost and floundering. Derek sighed.

"I understand, Hotch." The unit chief nodded, bringing his mug to his lips. Morgan eased into the polyester booth.

"I still don't like this." Morgan glared at the table. Hotch watched with a narrowing, quickly dissolving, harsh look. Morgan ran a quick hand over the back of his neck.

"I don't like it at all, Hotch." Aaron swallowed, but the motion did nothing to relieve the anxiety he felt. Hotch looked at the visibly tense Morgan and he wondered if his own expression was just as angry and worried. For a brief moment, Derek met his gaze. The years swirled around the two men, and, when Hotch saw the thin strand of trust in Morgan's eyes, he spoke his own worries aloud.

"Me too, Morgan." Hotch admitted in a whisper. "Me too."


	55. Chapter 55

**Hi CM fanfic readers! Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I had a bout with real life. I'm not at all religious, so please take what's below as my feeble attempt to try and stay true to a previous episode. I'm a bit nervous to reveal this anticipated addition, but I hope it's enjoyed all the same. It sounds like the end but, trust me, it's not. Happy reading! :)**

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_"There's somethin' good comin'. There has to be." -Tom Petty, "Something Good Comin'."_

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_

It was colder than he expected it to be in the graveyard, and Reid burrowed his hands deep into his pockets, hunching his shoulders upwards as he dropped his head towards the ground. Underneath his converse sneakers, dead and dulled brown grass crunched, filling the air with a lonely sound that echoed outwards as it pinged off bare branches and stone graves. Reid expected to feel anxious or even physically ill, but, as Tobias's resting place grew closer and closer with each step, Reid couldn't help himself from feeling relieved. He was finally here. After all this time, it was finally time to place everything behind him.

On top of the hill looking downwards, Jason Gideon couldn't help but feel isolated. Memories of that night so many months prior came rushing forward: Hankel's cluttered home, the clustered computer monitors, the blindly fast rush of sirens, and the bursting into the cabin, only to find that they were too late. They were almost too late. Gideon wished Hotch was with him for support, but he also knew he'd never voice that particular thought. A few hours earlier, Aaron had sounded livid when Jason called from a rest stop bathroom while Reid waited in the car. He knew the unit chief would be upset, but Jason supposed there were things he had to do. There were things he needed to make right. He focused on the tree-line, remembering.

Detective Farraday had been confused to see him, although Gideon couldn't blame the man, who he eyed him suspiciously when he walked into the station with Reid in tow. The last time they had been in Georgia hadn't been a pleasant experience for either side, and Gideon knew the man did not expect anything wonderful from their surprise visit. Gideon recalled the quick, firm handshake, and the look that bordered bewildered and frightened. Gideon let the detective's voice swirl with the wind around him:

**A few hours prior:**

_"What can I do for you two agents?" Farraday asked. Reid opened his mouth, let out a terrified squeak, and closed it. Gideon spoke before Reid melted into a puddle of anxiety._

_"This may seem like an odd request, but we're looking for Tobias Hankel's gravestone." The detective sucked in a deep breath, and Reid's face drained of all its color. _

_"Well, I certainly didn't expect that..." Gideon nodded at Farraday's admission. He understood why Reid needed to make this trip, but it still didn't stop him from feeling concerned. His sobriety was new and this test, however important, seemed like too much too soon._

_"You know where he is, actually..." Farraday trailed off, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of Reid, who, judging from his nervous fidgeting, was just as uneasy as the detective._

_"We do?" Gideon queried, clearing his suddenly constricted throat. The dead weight in his limbs told him he wouldn't like where they would be going._

_"Marshall." The man had simply said one word, and Reid recoiled, turning on his heels to speed-walk out of the room. Gideon and Farraday watched his unusual gallop, waiting until the door clattered shut before speaking._

_"What in hell are you doing back here with the kid?" The detective asked with more shock than judgment outlining his words. Gideon sighed, running a hand over his face._

_"I'm not sure..." Gideon admitted in defeat. Farraday raised his eyebrows._

_"Are you sure he's up for this?" Gideon sighed, eyes resting on Reid's far-off profile. He didn't know if Spencer was, but now was not the time for debate. They were too far in this to stop now._

_"I don't know, but it's his decision to make, no matter how much I want to turn around and go home." Gideon exhaled again. In the moment of silence, both watched Reid's nervous pacing. The young agent's lips were moving, but neither Gideon or Farraday could hear his rambled mutterings. Gideon faced the detective once more._

_"We appreciate your help." Farrady nodded at Gideon, eyes trained on the doorway._

_"Good luck to you both..." Gideon met the outstretched hand with his. He turned, taking a few steps to join Reid outside._

_"Agent Gideon?" Farraday called. Gideon spun to face the detective, who hesitated before speaking gruffly. "Whatever demon you're trying to resurrect or bury, you better be careful. Things like what happened to him," He gesticulated towards Reid, "They don't go away so easy." Gideon nodded, understanding the cryptic message far too well._

**Present Day:**

Gideon leaned against the car, wondering who decided to bury Hankel where he actually died. If it were up to Gideon, he would have placed him next to his father, but, Jason realized, who was he to understand anything about fathers and sons? He barely spoke to his own.

Yet as he watched Reid's outline become blurred with the backdrop of the winter skyline, Gideon realized that he had a son, and, currently, he was walking away. For the life of him, Gideon couldn't understand why he had no desire to follow.

* * *

It was a small grave and, if it wasn't for its shiny granite front, Reid would have missed it all together. The markers were old in this part of the plantation, crumbling in corners, creating a collection of mismatched letters and incomplete words. Tobias's headstone was a pristine anomaly among all the dilapidated graves in the family burial site, one that Hankel did not belong to, and Reid stared at the epithet that someone, who he wasn't sure, had chosen to adorn its front:

_He who endureth to the end shall be saved_

_Matthew 10:22, _Reid thought to himself. He traced the slated loops with his gaze, following the curves and lines of each letter. His mind was turning and, oddly enough, he wasn't recalling his time in captivity. Instead, the threads were weaving into a thought that had never unearthed itself before: He had endured to the end. The team had saved him. He had made it through. Tobias had endured too, even though, ironically, his freedom had come through death. A cool breeze numbed his exposed skin, and Reid sniffed, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

Unsure why, Reid's thoughts turned to his teammates. They all endured, he supposed. Everything they fought against or for always became much more than a battle for some skewed form of justice. Every single one of them chose the job for reasons that were simultaneously clear and unclear. _I'm so lucky, _Reid realized. He had Morgan's protection, Hotch's guidance, Emily's empathy, JJ's friendship, and Garcia's optimism. And, currently, the man waiting for him on the hill stored what little skewed faith in people and the world that Reid had, somehow, managed to salvage. Spencer knew that his whole life he searched desperately for his niche among everyone else. At times, he had been ashamed of his mind, angry with those who hurt him, and had been lost, bouncing from book to book, pretending that pages and faded ink held some sort of explanation. When those things had failed, he allowed the drugs to take their place. Now, standing in the wind recalling the people he cared most about in this world, Reid felt the pieces merge back together, forming a new, altered, and wiser picture.

It wasn't the semi-sonic epiphany he imagined, but Reid finally understood. He finally realized that what began that night in the Georgia cornfield and what ended in the foggy graveyard had been his journey, his test, but it would not, and did not have to be, his unraveling. When he managed to take his eyes off the stone, Reid wasn't at all surprised to see Tobias staring back at him.

The man tilted his head, peering at Reid as if he was mildly curious. Reid didn't blink, and, even though he knew the figment was not real, he was not startled by his momentary lapse of sanity. He didn't feel remotely crazy. Tobias smiled and it was filled with warmth.

"I remember you." His voice swirled with the wind, tumbling through discarded, dry leaves and speckled grave markers.

"I can't forget you." Reid whispered back. The form nodded sadly, turning his gaze towards his own grave.

"I was wrong to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"You were sick." Tobias nodded, eyes flickering to the ground and back to Reid. They held contact for a while.

"You saved me by killing me." Hankel said. Reid shivered, but the memory of the cool gun in his palm did not come in the rush he anticipated.

"I hope you're happy now." Reid said truthfully, wondering if Gideon could hear him talking to himself. Something told him that whatever was happening was not apparent to an outsider.

"I am." Tobias nodded slowly. "But you're not. You haven't been for a long time."

"It's a work in progress." Reid flashed a quick smile. Tobias frowned.

"I'm sorry for that. I never meant to turn you into me. You're better than that. You're the one who's supposed to help others. Not me."

"It's not your fault." Reid told him. To his surprise, the figment smiled again, staring at him with eyes that recalled nothing of the heaviness Reid remembered. The world began to melt into a faded night, and Reid squinted through the sudden lack of light. Tobias was becoming more difficult to see with each passing moment. Reid sensed the end before it arrived.

"It's not yours either." Tobias said, and the words stung at the center of Reid's chest. As magically as he appeared, Tobias vanished. Reid stared at the epithet again. His whole life had been a struggle, a battle of wits and a test of endurance, and, now, from the clarity of the other side, Reid realized how far he had come. He wasn't sure how long he stood in the howling wind, but, when the night was almost at the peek of its cover, Reid turned and headed up the hill. As he walked, he realized it was the first time when the darkness didn't scare him.

* * *

Gideon pretended not to notice Reid's long visit at the grave or his slow accent back to the car. He ignored the tear stained cheeks and he respected Reid's need for quiet. It wasn't until they were driving away and Reid reached for the radio knob, that Jason Gideon felt it was the acceptable time to ask the question burning on his tongue.

"How'd it go?" Reid turned away from the window, smiling in Gideon's direction. The warmth caught Gideon off guard, and he blinked to diffuse his surprise.

"I think I'm okay now." Gideon nodded, understanding without needing an explanation. He turned the car on the main road, easing into the driver's seat. For once, things seemed on track. A crumbling of paper told Gideon that Reid had reached for the muffins he had bought so many hours earlier. By now, Reid was probably starving and the baked goods were probably stale, but it didn't matter.

"Want one?" Reid asked, taking a large bite out of the chocolate chip baked good. Gideon reached into the bag, pulling out the blueberry one. The two men ate in silence, the road stretched forward, and the world blended into night.

"Hey Gideon?" Reid asked after a long stretch of nothing. Gideon shifted his eyes from the road, to Reid, and back to the road once more. When he spoke, it was soft.

"Yeah, Reid?"

"Thanks." Gideon nodded, sensing his time to say what he desperately wanted and needed to had arrived.

"You know, Spencer-" Gideon began, dropping his tone a few notches. Catching on, Reid interrupted the older agent.

"It's alright, Gideon." All at once, Jason understood the insinuated acceptance of his squashed apology. He smiled, feeling his tense muscles relax and his mind stop ruminating. Reid hummed off key to the song on the radio, and Gideon couldn't help but feel both overwhelmed and overjoyed. Good had been a long time coming, and he was glad they had finally arrived.

As he watched the highway and the dots of yellow cascading from overhead street lights, Reid felt changed. He knew hard times would come, but he also knew they'd pass. He'd endured this long, this far, and it felt good to see this change. It felt good to be the change.

In fact, Reid realized, it felt amazing to be alive.


	56. Chapter 56

**Hi everyone! Sorry about the posting delay. I'm not gonna lie-I got a little side tracked with a post "Lauren" one shot (I couldn't help myself...). After this chapter, I'll be doing a few post episode chapters, an epilogue, and then, and I cannot believe this as I write it, I'll be done this story! Thank you all for being such awesome readers and reviewers. Enjoy the newest addition. :)**

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_"It took a world of troubles. It took a world of tears. It took a long time to get back here." -Tom Petty, "Square One"_

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_

If anyone were to ask Spencer Reid why he was in the deserted BAU an hour and a half before the official start of the work day, he would have said he had to finish neglected paperwork. When the questioner noticed that his paperwork was completed in record time and his coworker's stacks were lessening, Reid would have stuttered that he was helping with the team's work-flow. After all, three months was a long time to be gone. However, the real reason, the one that Reid never would reveal openly to anyone, was he wanted to be in the BAU when it was quiet. He longed to hear the scratching of his pencil against paper. He wanted the moments of stillness to envelop him, seeping into his pores until he became saturated with the bullpen's cluster of desks, pinpointed maps, and faint traces of cheap, badly brewed coffee accented by remnants of cleaning products lingering from the night janitor's scouring. Spencer Reid would never confess that, other than his coworkers, he missed the BAU while he was in rehab more than he had missed his own apartment, bed, or personal freedom. The BAU was the only real home he had ever had, and he desired to complete his paperwork among the ghosts of the past ninety days.

His desk was exactly as he remembered. As far as Spencer could tell, no one had even used his seat. It didn't take him long to finish the few files in his 'to do' wire bin. Noticing Morgan's tilting stack, Reid dove in, finishing the older man's work with a grand flourish of his ballpoint pen. He started on Emily's, loving how his hunched back ached and his fingers cramped. When he finished hers, Reid returned the files to a neat stack on the left side of her desk, leaning back in his seat to enjoy the coffee in his travel mug (The new coffee maker yielded delicious results). The liquid had cooled substantially, but Reid found he didn't mind. To his right, Hotch's office was a hole of some sorts, dark and void of the usual hard-set presence. Gideon's disorderly office was also closed to prying eyes, and Reid, with a lack of anything to do, headed towards the room.

Gideon never locked his door, and Reid entered quietly, as if the older agent was sleeping at his desk chair. The overhead light flickered in protest, and, through the feeble sputtering of yellow, Reid surveyed the familiarity of everything. He'd never go uninvited into Hotch's office, but Gideon was different. The two men had returned home late the night before with unspoken words and apologetic eyes. Neither one discussed their argument or Gideon's betrayal since leaving Tobais's grave. The past was left behind in the dark night, and, instead, Reid told Gideon about rehab. He explained how he had befriended Tony and Mike, and he even detailed Melinda's magnetic, albeit destructive, pull. He described Angela, nightly poker games, the talent show, the vial of fake Dilaudid, and his hard-earned epiphanies. He spoke until his throat was hoarse, his eyes drooping, and, when he had fallen asleep with his head propped against his jacket and the adjacent window, Gideon had let him rest, only waking him once they were back in Quantico.

Now, standing in his mentor's office, Reid couldn't stop his gaze from wandering to the mass of pictures on Gideon's shelves. They were the people Gideon saved, his successes, and Reid didn't understand why he kept score. The job was dark enough without the tallying of good versus evil. Reid noticed a few new additions from cases he worked on, but most of the photographs spanned the years before he knew and worked with Gideon. Reid turned to leave when he spotted a familiar face. A _too _familiar face. Spinning on his heels with fingertips tightening around his coffee mug, Reid bent down, squinting at the picture in the very middle of the sea of survivors. His breath hitched in his throat when his own smile and eyes stared back at him. Is that how Gideon viewed him? A successful case? _You know that's not true, Spencer. _Reid reassured himself. _You know that you're much more important to him than just some photograph. All of these people mean something to him. _Still, Reid couldn't shake the thought: Was that what he was? A survivor? With a racing mind, he exited the room, pushing the switch to down before returning to his seat once more.

Hotch was first of the team to arrive, although Reid was too preoccupied to notice. Aaron hadn't expected Reid to be at his desk so early, but, his brisk walk halted when he saw Reid grinning in a off-handed way at his computer screen. Hotch observed the dark curls pulled into a ponytail. The angular lines in Reid's face were full and accentuated his eyes, which, currently, were not decorated with the ever-present purple bags Hotch had grown so used to seeing on the teams' expressions. He watched Reid's eyes race from line to line as his finger occasionally clicked on the down-arrow key. The sight alone burned the harsh liquid at the back of his eyes, and Hotch blinked rapidly to defuse what would, eventually, break through.

"Morning, Reid." He cleared his throat, and Reid jumped.

"Hotch!" Reid stammered, trying to control his shot nerves, "Sorry, I didn't see you there." The Unit Chief nodded, sending Reid a steady look he knew far too well. In the time it had taken Reid to compose himself, Aaron's eyes had traveled to Morgan and Emily's desks.

"Did you finish their paperwork, Reid?" Feigning innocence, Reid shrugged, throwing his gaze to the ceiling before grinning in Hotch's direction. Hotch couldn't stop his lips from tugging upwards.

"I'm sure they would have slipped you some files anyway." Hotch appeased. Reid smiled at the floor, but it quickly faded.

"Hotch," Spencer paused, unsure of how to voice his concern. Hotch raised his eyebrows, watching the fidgeting young man with a warm feeling he tried to hide. Reid's tapping feet and jerked hand motions were what Hotch missed the most, even more than Reid's quick mental gymnastics and rapidly skewed statistical tangents. Amused by how everything had changed yet nothing had, Hotch forced down a smile. It was apparent Reid was struggling for the right words. Aaron could never explain why and how the sight of an uncomfortable Spencer Reid made him feel so relieved.

"I don't know where to begin." Reid admitted, standing to face his boss. Hotch's eyes narrowed in Reid's direction, surveying the young agent's flushed cheeks, darting eyes, and slight nervous tongue flick.

"What do you mean, Reid?" Aaron's voice was soft and the infliction seemed to comfort Spencer, whose muscles visibly relaxed from their tense positions. He stared at his sneakers before meeting Hotch's eyes.

"Where you sent me, the rehab, it was..." Throat constricted, Reid stopped speaking. He knew he didn't have to thank his superior, but he wanted to tell Hotch how grateful he was. He _needed _to explain how his boss's actions had reeled away from a very figurative and literal ledge. Oddly, Hotch didn't say anything, preferring to watch Reid with a gentle look Reid could not decipher. Maybe Hotch thought he was a ghost. Maybe he once had been one.

"It was exactly what I needed. Thank you." Reid finally managed to say. For a long pause, the two men eyed one another, silently accepting not just Reid's addiction, but everything that had transpired: The Hankel case, Reid's abduction, the team's rescue, and the aftermath that followed. They'd never speak of that night on the bridge or their parking lot conversation again, but both understood what had been at stake.

Reid had never realized before how soft Hotch's expression could be before or how the tiny folds at his eyes creased the usually hard-set lines into a mask Hotch seldom wore. It was a completely different side to the team's unreadable, rock-solid leader, and Reid understood the boundary of some sorts that had been crossed. There was no going back, no sideways glances, and definitely no looped spiral to the past.

"You're welcome, Reid. It's good to have you back." Hotch gave Reid a genuine, rare grin, and Reid couldn't help but return the smile. Admittedly, the unit chief had been momentarily speechless. At some level, he had expected the apology; however, he did not anticipate his sudden reaction and its emotional accompaniment. Spencer's honesty sent a deluge of emotions rushing to the forefront, and Hotch had remained quiet in order to quell the surprising outburst.

"I was reading Garcia's emails..." Reid mentioned, nodding downwards towards the computer while shoving his hands in his pockets. It was a familiar gesture, one that Hotch had seen countless times over the past few years, but, for the life of him, Aaron could not comprehend why these actions stung tears at the corners of his eyes.

"You might want to make her take a vacation, sir." Reid joke, sending a tentative smile in Hotch's direction. "She sounds like she's losing it a bit." Aaron chuckled, pushing his tears downwards. Hearing the elevator door ding a few feet behind him, Hotch felt his stoic demeanor take charge in a cold sweep. Sensing the shift, Reid straightened his posture, staring at his boss with a knowing look.

"Just so you know, Reid." Hotch lowered his voice as other agents began filtering in. "Everyone else thinks you took sabbatical to do some research for a publication." Reid nodded, understanding that "everyone else" meant Strauss and everyone but the BAU team.

"What was I writing about?" He mumbled so he would not be overheard. Hotch gave a low snort.

"Drug addiction and its psychological affects on the individual." Reid couldn't help but laugh. Leave it to Hotch to hide the obvious in plain sight. Hotch gave him another curt nod, greeting Gideon, who had just arrived, with a brisk welcome. Jason met Reid's eye, said good morning, and walked with Hotch to his office. Reid watched the two men ascend the stairs with long and short strides that, oddly, yet comfortingly, matched one another.

"You know, Reid," He heard a familiar voice say, and Spencer turned to face a beaming Prentiss, "I think the long hair is growing on me." She pulled him into hug before he could protest. Reid would never admit it, but he secretly enjoyed its reassuring ease.

"Really? So you think I shouldn't cut it?"

"Let's not go that far." She joked, turning to greet Morgan, who had appeared by her side. Derek smiled at Reid, breaking through any anxiety that Reid still managed to store.

"You definitely need a haircut, Reid." Morgan said while tossing the younger agent a crumbled paper bag. Reid wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, peering into the crinkling paper to see a blueberry bagel slathered with butter. He didn't even realize Morgan knew his favorite type of bagel, never mind that he would bother to grab him breakfast. Reid swallowed past his emotions for the second time that morning. The bagel, however simple, was Morgan's way of welcoming him back.

"Thanks, Morgan." He said, unable to stop the crack in his tone. Morgan nodded, eying the files on his desk with growing suspicion.

"Pretty boy," He began, "Did you finish my paperwork?" Emily turned towards Derek before twisting to inspect her own pile.

"Mine too, Reid?" She asked with a trace of shock in her voice. Reid sunk into his seat, pulling the bagel out of its wrapper.

"I figured you guys were going to slip me some files anyway." He shrugged, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. "It wasn't a big deal." He mentioned between chews. Emily gratefully thanked him with the promise of coffee later on, and Morgan just stared.

"What?" Reid asked when he felt Morgan's eyes from across the desks.

"You weren't even here for some of these cases, Reid." Derek said incredulously. Reid nodded, swallowing a gulp of coffee before answering.

"No, not technically, but you told me about them at the diner. I just remembered what you said." Morgan nodded, mumbling to himself while opening the nearest file to study its contents. Emily, apparently accepting of her finished work, began eating a onion and cream cheese layered bagel that Morgan had placed on her desk a few moments prior.

"Hi, Spence." JJ called as she hurried to the cluster of desks. For the past three months, the sight of Spence's empty work space had filled her with a sadness that not even Garcia could squash. However, now that he returned, she felt happiness bubble upwards.

"Morning JJ." Reid stood, allowing his second hug of the day. Oddly enough, the physicality felt needed. Reid would never confess this if probed, but the quick bouts of human contact made him feel simultaneously protected and recovered.

"Seriously, Reid?" Morgan, apparently, could not fathom Reid's accuracy, and the younger agent watched Derek shake his head in bewilderment.

"I can't believe you remembered everything. This is all correct..." He met Reid's eyes with large, unbelieving ones.

"You did their paperwork already?" JJ asked, eyebrows raised. Reid shrugged, avoiding the question.

"I owe you a drink man..." Morgan mumbled, accepting defeat and reaching for his wheat bagel slathered with vegetable cream cheese. Spotting four untouched paper bags, JJ nodded towards Derek. He pointed three fingers at the ones closest to him and JJ scooped the paper into her hands, calling thanks and goodbye while heading to Hotch's and Gideon's office to deliver their breakfasts. Reid leaned into his chair back, simply enjoying the sight of his coworkers.

"What?" Emily asked, growing self conscious of her shoveling and Reid's stare. "Is there some cream cheese on my face or something?" Morgan sent her a sideways glance.

"No," Reid grinned. "I just missed you guys." Emily's smiled wavered as she dropped her eyes to her desk. Morgan gave Reid a long look, grabbing his food once more after a pregnant pause. Reid picked at his own bagel, enjoying the mixture of sweet fruit with salty condiment. The moment of serenity didn't last long.

"Out of my way!" A familiar voice yelled. All three agents turned in time to see Agent Anderson's manila folder fly into the air, fluttering a sea of papers downwards. Unsure of what, or who, had hit him, he stood, perplexed, before bending to the ground to retrieve the contents of the spilled file.

"Shit," Emily whispered to Morgan and Reid.

"She's on a rampage, kid." Morgan joked, although the darkness swirling in his tone told Reid he was only half-kidding.

"All my babies back together again!" The excited, emotional voice called out. Reid raised his gaze to see Garcia adorned in an obnoxiously loud outfit standing next to Derek with rapidly filling eyes. Morgan handed the analyst a paper bag, which she took after placing a kiss on her male coworker's head. Reid swore he saw Morgan's already dark cheeks line with blush at her outward display of affection.

"And you..." Garcia turned towards him and, instinctively, Reid jumped, pushing his chair backwards. Morgan laughed so loudly that a few agents in the bullpen turned to see the commotion. Reid was fast, but Penelope was faster, and she had his cheeks in-between her brightly painted fingernails in one motion.

"I missed this face!" Garcia proclaimed, squeezing Reid's cheeks so forcefully the tears of pain covered his eyes ducts.

"Garfffiiaaa" Reid protested through squashed cheeks,"Youf sawv meef bis weekenf."

"It's been three months! I need as much as you as I can get!" Garcia stated, somehow decoding Reid's wording. Her grip grew tighter and Reid felt some tears escape at the corner of his eyes.

"Umm Garcia?" Prentiss managed to say through tears, although hers were caused by laughter and not Garcia's death-grip, "I think you're hurting Reid." Garcia laughed manically, beaming at Reid once more. He winced.

"If readt youv emailfs. Fanks. If apprecfiate iftz" Reid managed to sputter. Satisfied with her daily infliction of pain and Reid's appreciation, Garcia squealed, releasing Reid from her clutches. Reid groaned rubbing his red, throbbing cheeks. Across the desks, Emily and Morgan made no attempts to cover their laughter.

"What do you think, Junior G Boy? Should I become a writer then?" Reid raised his eyebrows.

"I think you need a vacation." He countered. Emily snorted, Morgan laughed loudly again, and Garcia feigned anger before succumbing to laughter herself.

**

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**

From his office overlooking the bullpen, Agent Hotchner watched the exchange between his team. It felt unbelievably right, and relieving, to be whole again. So right, in fact, the Agent Hotchner allowed the barrage of memories and emotions to rush forward. Suddenly, Hankel's home cluttered his office, Reid's lifeless body appeared on his computer screen, and, outside the window, two figures on a rain-soaked bridge talked around the inevitable revelation that the foaming, swollen river would have made possible. Resonating outwards from his picture frames, Morgan's angry, but overwhelmed, look bore into his, and Gideon's confession of personal failure and wrongdoing swirled around him, echoing at deafening decibels. A figment of Emily appeared in the chair across from his desk as she attempted to explain her concerns about Reid and his erratic behavior. It then shifted into an apparition of Garcia with tear-stained cheeks when he divulged Reid's whereabouts to team before finally morphing into a bandaged-arm JJ, who wore a wild, scared look in a blood-stained bathroom. When he knew what was next, Agent Hotchner pulled the blinds to close and turned the lock with a satisfying click, concealing the office from any possible intruders.

The saline came in a rush that momentarily overcame Hotch. He stumbled to his desk, pinning its surface underneath his palms in order to support his full weight. And when the tears turned into chocking, yet grateful, sobs, Aaron Hotchner sunk into his chair, drooping his head towards to familiar solid pine. He no longer felt responsible for Reid's addiction and its formation, but Aaron could not stop the release. He had led the team through everything with his usual stoic facade, but, now, with the barrier to the world and his retired fortress, Hotch understood just how heavy these actions were and just how precariously everything had been teetering, swaying from one extreme to the next. Things could have been worse, much worse, and Hotch couldn't stop the tears any more than he could stop the waves of gratitude rocketing through his laden limbs.

He couldn't of cried for more than a ten minutes, but, when he composed himself enough to be sure that others would not notice his red-rimmed eyes, Hotch turned the blinds and opened the door once more. Aaron smiled, observing his team enjoy a brief moment of serenity. After all the darkness, it felt nice to see light once more.

In the bullpen, Reid was already setting up a rocket and, judging from its size, it was the welcome home rocket to end all rockets. Emily was blocking him from being seen, although not too successfully, and Morgan was chatting with Garcia, who was bent over his shoulder, pointing to his computer screen. Hotch watched as JJ approached, jumping nearly towards the ceiling when Reid's rocket proved a success. Morgan and Garcia barely startled, but laughed at JJ's scowl. Less assimilated agents ducked under their desks, reappearing moments later with surprised and confused looks that quickly morphed into chuckles. Gideon bolted down the stairs, standing above Reid's desk holding a fragment from the explosion. It was no secret among that BAU team that Gideon wasn't a fan of Reid's little science experiments. Emily denied involvement, and Reid paused for a moment before bolting from his chair with a speed Hotch had never seen before. The unit chief laughed aloud when Gideon ran past him with agility that he also had not foreseen.

Heading to his desk once more, Hotch returned to his seat. The next case would come soon, he knew that much, but, for now, Aaron Hotchner savored the end of what could have been a life-ending descent. Instead, he welcomed the new beginning and the journey back to a place and a team that he knew was home. It had taken a while, but everything had returned to normal. When his phone rang, Hotch paused before grabbing the receiver. Whatever waited for him and the team on the other end of the line was just another test, another battle, and they'd greet it with a unified force. Maybe, Hotch understood, if they were lucky, they'd win.


	57. Chapter 57

**Three orders of business: **

**1. The below chapter and the few that follow will detail post-episode situations. I guess, give or take a few sentences, these chapters could, technically, stand as one-shots. I will not, however, be writing a post "Lauren" chapter because that massive plot monkey would inevitability make this story even longer. I already wrote a Reid POV post Lauren one-shot, so, unless the writing muses take over, I'll end somewhere earlier in season six. The below addition is meant to follow episode 3.16, "Elephant's Memory."  
**

**2. The Serenity Prayer was written by Reinhold Niebuhr and is used in Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step treatment programs. I incorporated the poem from memory, but my knowledge of its use in these programs is only from what I've read via internet searches. If I'm incorrect with my assumptions or use, please know that I mean no harm or disrespect. **

**3. Lastly, I think it's safe to say I have a slight obsession with the below song, which was originally written and performed by NIN and then covered by Johnny Cash...**

**Happy reading! :)**

**

* * *

**_"The needle tears a hole. The old familiar sting. Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything." -Johnny Cash, "Hurt"_

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_

When she thought about it, Emily Prentiss realized she wasn't just upset, frustrated, or angry. She was fucking livid. He had discarded his gun, his weapon, his only real protection, so casually. A subtle movement complete with a flick of the wrist, like some kind of warped magic trick. Only this wasn't pretend and those bullets were real. _Did he want to die?_ Prentiss shook her head to dislodge the thought, slamming the car door with a satisfying thud. The sound echoed through the empty street, bouncing off of streetlights that emanated eerie, jaundice glows onto the tar below. It was late, or early depending on the viewpoint, and Emily could not stop the rage from shaking her frame. _How dare_ he assume she'd cover him? _How dare_ he ask her not to shoot, although they both knew she wouldn't have, especially not with his skinny, about to be ass-kicked, frame between Owen and the team. _How dare _he lie to Morgan, Hotch and Rossi?_ How dare _he plan it that way too?

Emily exhaled through her nostrils, stomping up Reid's apartment steps. Her hands were already curled into fists in anticipation of the glorious banging she would inflict on his front door. _Cover him? _Emily thought, _If he tries that little stunt again, I'll be covering his dead body with dirt. _Hotch's anger had been seething and paramount to the team's, even Morgan's; however, Emily rationalized she had every right to rip Reid a new one. He had shoved his gun at her without a second glance. If he had been injured or worse, killed, Emily didn't know if she could live with the memory or the guilt. As she sat on her couch earlier that evening, arms crossed and glaring at a late-night infomercial for some ridiculous ab machine that couldn't possibly work, Emily decided Reid needed a lesson in team work.

The door was solid and the feeling of her knuckles against the wood felt satisfying. Emily thunked harder, oblivious to the sound, early morning mist, and the fact that 2:30 A.M. was not the best, or most convenient, time to be pounding on someone's front door. Her anger would not wait until a more acceptable hour, and, when the door swung open, Emily was prepared to let Reid drown in her disapproval over his careless actions and why he would _never _do that to her, or the team, again.

But that was before the door opened.

"Emily?" Reid looked bewildered, albeit Emily figured he had good reason. Even though she couldn't see herself, the hotness in her cheeks, labored breathing, and hard-set jawline probably made her look a bit erratic, maybe unstable.

"Reid." She kept her voice flat through gritted teeth, but Emily couldn't stop herself from noticing his rumpled hair, bloodshot eyes, and keen focus. _He wasn't sleeping, _the profiler inside spoke. _Did you really expect him to be after the last case? _She sighed and the huffed sound lingered between the two agents.

"Are you alright?" Reid knew Emily was mad, her eyes told him that much, but, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why she wasn't screaming at him yet. It seemed that she was attempting to store the rage someplace safe, someplace where all of her other feelings were kept, but, from her shaking frame, Spencer knew this emotion would be pushed outwards in the very near future.

"No." Emily's voice wavered and she knew, she simply understood, that she would lose all composure soon. Reid must have sensed this eruption as he wordlessly stepped aside, allowing her to enter the apartment. When the door shut with a deafening click, Reid met Emily's eyes. He tensed against the barrage as her voice began echoing off the walls.

"Are you insane, Reid?" He blinked at the question. Maybe he was. Lately, it felt like he was.

"I-"

"You shoved your gun at me and expected me to cover your scrawny ass! What the fuck is wrong with you?" The color was rising in Emily's cheeks and Reid felt something akin to fear jump-start to life in his chest. He had expected and patiently waited at the back of the plane for Hotch's rampage, but not Emily's. Never hers.

"I had to talk to him..." Spencer appeased, sounding less sure of himself than he had a mere twelve hours earlier. Emily exhaled a cohort of air, moving closer to Reid. Instinctively, he backed towards the wall. He had been bullied enough as a child and had seen Morgan angry enough times to know that a solid surface, other than his face, would be better to be near if Emily wanted to get physical. And Reid had known Emily long enough to know that she was much stronger than he was. The odds were definitely not in his favor.

"And you couldn't do that without your gun?" She whispered, voice bordering on rage once more. Reid gulped.

"I...you know...he was scared, Emily." She nodded to herself, as if Reid had explained the wonders of the universe. However, when Emily's eyes met his, Reid knew he was in for it. From her glare, Spencer understood he had triggered something primal. Emily's eyes narrowed, Reid flinched, and her tirade gained both volume and momentum.

"_He _was scared, Reid? How about _me_? How about the _team_? You blocked our fucking shot on purpose!"

"I couldn't let him die like that, Emily!" Reid retaliated as he felt his own temper rising. A red, hot surge of emotions burned his cheeks. Earlier, at his second attempt at a beltway cops meeting, he had come clean about his cravings. He had described, in detail, how he longed for the cool slide of the needle. How the pull of a drug-induced euphoric oblivion was never far from his mind. He had shamelessly explained that he had wanted Dilaudid and the accompanying escape so badly that he had taken to imagining ways to obtain the drug: A quick slip upstairs to his supplier neighbor, a brief walk down a dark alley, and even a trip to a doctor with a convincing story about a false pain-anything to forget and leave the world of brokenness behind him. Now, however, a fury he hadn't felt in so long switched into gear. At his sides, his long fingers curled, poised to release months of stored emotions into the air with one swing. Reid didn't know why, but he was starting to understand Morgan's need to hit walls and other inanimate objects when he was upset.

"What about you, Reid?" Emily's was still enraged, but her voice cracked. Reid's hard stare softened. He understood, Prentiss realized, but she had to make it clear. She had to explain that they had been petrified.

"What if you had been killed?" Reid broke contact, staring at the hardwood as it became a fragmented, watery mixture. He wasn't sure if Emily noticed the few droplets that fell to the floor. In that moment hours earlier under the oppressive Texas sun, his only thought had been about saving Owen. Hotch was right- their job didn't work like that, but it should. Reid was almost positive that justice should be easier.

"It wasn't my smartest move, alright?" He offered lamely. Emily jumped, igniting the room with an a loud, enraged octave that was teetering on a thin line of composure.

"Smartest? No, Reid." She huffed in a gust of sarcasm accented by rolling eyes, "It definitely wasn't your smartest move. It was an impulsive move, an emotional move, and damn near suicidal move." She hadn't meant to say the last bit, but, the effects of her words were immediate. Reid recoiled against the statement, but, oddly enough, his eyes met hers. They were hurt, this much Emily could tell, but they were unwavering. It was a look that told her he was in pain, but still standing. It was a look that told her she may have taken it too far. And it was also a look that told her maybe, about a year prior, her hunch would have been correct. Now, however, the man standing across from her sent the silent message, stomping the gnawing bit of doubt burrowing deep within her stomach: _I don't feel that way, Em. That's not true. _They held stares for a long pause. When Reid spoke, his voice was so small Emily almost didn't hear.

"I know it was a dumb thing to do, Emily." He admitted, shoulders sagging. All at once, Emily felt her anger dissipate. Reid looked dejected and, judging from his hunched posture, she could tell he felt it too.

"Then why'd you do it?" Her voice, oddly, and frighteningly, sounded like her mother's tone when she reprimanded her for countless childhood wrongdoings. Reid shrugged, meeting her eyes with tear-stained cheeks Emily pretended not to see.

"Owen just wanted to forget, Emily. He wanted just one person who understood him. I know how it feels to be alone and lost. I know how it feels to want to forget...to escape..."

_Believe me when I say I know exactly how it feels._

"Reid..." Emily stopped to run her a hand through her hair. Reid shifted his gaze to the floor and back to his coworker's face. In the moment of silence, Emily saw Reid a few hours prior: His hands in the air as the thin line of sweat inched down his back. It had been stifling, and Reid had to have been burning in his usual frumpy professor attire. Their surroundings made the scene almost surreal, like a very bad Western movie, although Reid wasn't anywhere near a cowboy, and Savage wasn't the typical outlaw. What Owen lacked in bravery, he had in weapons. During more than half of Reid's rambled negotiation, Emily did not fail to notice the rather large rifle that was strapped to his back.

On the plane ride home, Emily's brain finally switched out of adrenaline mode. Prentiss didn't want to admit that she had been so scared she'd never see the boy with the mismatched socks again. She had imagined her world without Reid's rambled statistics, moments of intellectual puzzle piecing that left everyone wrapped in some factual whirlwind, and his empathetic eyes that always found her own at her lowest, most vulnerable, moments. What would work be like without his long legs perched on the edge of his desk, fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee, and eyes racing over the lines of some book? Who would make and drink all the crappy break room coffee, and then go to the cafe down the street to buy himself, and the team, better java? Who would listen to her problems better than any man, or woman for that matter, ever had before? Who would respond to her with funny quips in various languages that only she understood, and who would laugh with her when those same words made Morgan's face crumble in confusion? Whose hair would she lovingly ruffle? Who would she buy geeky science kits for, and who would she call when late night cravings for Indian food hit? Emily swallowed the fear, but it had fueled her outburst and it wasn't ready to go quietly.

"I think," Emily cleared her throat and watched as Reid swiped at his eyes with a shirt sleeve. The water smudged, shining in the moonlight filtering through an adjacent window, "We all know how it is to feel lost. I think we all want to be lost sometimes." Reid nodded, understanding there was more.

"I also think that you may know that particular feeling better than some, but, Reid, that doesn't give you the right to put yourself and your teammates in danger like you did."

_You're the smartest kid in the room but you're not the only one in that room._

"If you're going to reprimand me, Emily, spare the guilt trip. You know and I both know Hotch did that already." Reid couldn't stop his temper when it spoke for him, although he actually felt ashamed. He realized how strange it was that, now, after almost a year of sobriety, he was struggling. After Gideon left, he had been upset, but his feelings had morphed into righteous anger. Back then, he vowed to stay clean to teach the older man a lesson: Just because he had abandoned him, and the team, wouldn't mean Spencer would relapse. Now, however, Reid felt his cheeks burn once more. A kid with a death wish that he had known for a few days had been a catalyst for old, painful memories and subsequent cravings. Moreso than the man who fled, leaving a nearly illegible letter in an empty cabin.

Emily bit her lip to keep her rampage at bay, observing Reid's tightened frame. His constant fidgeting was worse than usual, yet, he seemed to be curling deeper and deeper inside of himself. His face was flushed, creased, and worn with worry, his eyes darted to random spots within the hallway, and, when she looked closer, Emily saw Reid's fingertips shaking. Suddenly, it all made sense.

"How long have you wanted to use?" Reid's body visibly tensed, and he drew his arms protectively around his stomach. Emily's words stung, but her honestly surprised him. He was almost certain Hotch was the only one who saw through his cracking foundation, but Emily too?

"Have you used?" Emily asked, knowing he probably hadn't but she needed to be sure all the same. Reid's cheeks reddened and he shook his head no, never once meeting her eyes.

"It's okay to have cravings, Reid." Emily assured in a gentle tone. Reid's posture tensed again.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a shitty liar." Reid sighed, motioning towards the adjacent room with a slight nod of his head. Taking the cue, Emily followed the low lamp light's path as it elongated shadows on the walls.

"I went to a beltway cops meeting tonight." Reid admitted when the reached the living room. Emily watched his hand dig deep into his pockets, finding its way to hers. The medallion was warm, as if it had been passed from palm to palm repeatedly. Emily didn't have to look at the circular coin to know what it was. She raised her eyebrows in Reid's direction, remaining standing because Reid hadn't sat down either. He paced the room, and Emily watched curiously. It was too early for Spencer to receive his one year chip, and she knew that just as well as Reid did.

"Another member gave me that tonight, Emily." Reid answered her unasked questions, "He said he hadn't left his home without it in the past thirteen years and he just let me have it." Reid tossed his hands into the air in frustration. Emily scrunched her face at his discomfort.

"He wanted to help you, Reid. Maybe he thought that giving you this chip would help you get yours." Reid nodded, still pacing, unable to stop himself from moving. He needed motion, he needed action, and he needed anything other than his rampant thoughts or, more accurately, warped memory loop, repeating the countless other situations that could have gone much worse: Elle, Nathan Harris, Tobias Hankel, Gideon, his own fucked up childhood, and, now, Owen Savage.

"_God grant me the serenity to accept the thing I cannot change..._" Reid grumbled the opening line of the serenity prayer, forgetting that Emily was watching. From her stationary stance by the sofa, Emily felt her eyebrows raise even higher. Reid was pacing, mumbling to himself, and seemed to be deteriorating. In the low lighting, his face was twisted in pain, and his eyes showcased a reflection she had never seen before. He looked, Emily realized with a twinge of fear, positively manic.

"_Courage to change things I can._" Emily finished the line for him. Reid stopping moving to look at his coworker with wide eyes.

"Reid-" Prentiss began.

"Do you think that's true, Emily?" He interrupted, "Do you think people can change? Do you think people can accept things that they can't change?" His expression was eager, his cheeks hot, and his wording rushed.

"We see lots of things that we can't change, Reid." He nodded, returning to pacing, but the path had grown smaller. Emily's stomach turned. Things were worse, so much worse, than she had originally thought. Reid's previous reckless behavior had been irrational, but it made sense now.

"I know I've changed, Em. I accept that, but this-" Reid, suddenly drained of all energy, turned his attention towards the room, sinking into an armchair. Emily gave him a hard stare for a moment, reaching her hand outwards to drop the one year medallion into his open palm.

"How long have you wanted to use again, Reid?" Prentiss asked again as she sat tentatively on the couch, feeling the how her weight made the plush cushion to sink downwards. Wasn't it just a few days ago that she was sitting on this same sofa the night of Reid's surprise welcome home party?

"About a month. I thought I could handle the cravings..." He started talking immediately, as if the words would not form if he didn't.

"But then that kid got shot and it got worse...I just wanted to forget...I wanted to do anything to forget..." Reid couldn't stop himself from fidgeting, avoiding Emily's introspective gaze. Oddly enough, she didn't say anything, preferring to look and listen attentively. Reid's lips moved, but he was unsure if he was actually speaking.

"I went to a beltway cops meeting today. That's why I was late for the briefing. I went back again when we got home." Emily nodded, as if she knew, although Reid realized she may have already.

"But you still feel lost?" She said the statement like a question. Reid sighed, yanking a hand through his hair again. When his fingers caught on a tangle, he pulled harder. Pain was alright. Pain made him feel. But the massive, empty black hole swirling inside of him? That was not alright.

"Is that normal?" His voice was so young, so hopeless, so eager for an explanation, and Emily longed to lie to him. She wanted to tell him that he'd be okay, that addiction would eventually fade into a distant memory, but she couldn't. Reid was too smart for that and, besides, their world already was filled with too many lies.

"It is, Reid. But it's better to face these things. You know that." He nodded, cataloging her words somewhere into the massive memory bank inside his mind. For a moment, Reid bit his lip, catching her gaze with an earnest one.

"I've been clean almost a year, Emily. I guess I wasn't expecting everything to..." He turned his eyes towards the ceiling, searching desperately for the right words. The ones that would explain the hollowness gnawing at pieces of his heart. Emily watched his delicate, yet conflicted, features. It was obvious Reid had struggled during the case, but how come no one had noticed sooner? Hadn't they all learned from the past? Would they ever learn anything at all? Reid parted his lips, but Emily spoke before he could.

"Return to normal?" Spencer nodded again. This time, Emily sighed.

"I know you don't believe that, Reid."

"It's nice though." He sent her a small, apologetic smile through the muted darkness. This time, Emily figured she'd kill him out of pure desire to whack some sense into the most sensible person she knew.

"Lying to yourself just makes everything worse, Reid." She began, hesitating when he sniffed loudly, "It doesn't work. The more you try to avoid everything the more it grows. It will become something worse, something uglier, and something much more powerful than you can handle. It's better just to face it."

"I hate this." He grumbled. To Emily, Spencer Reid was a lot of things: He was the a human dictionary, the awkward and lovable coworker, and the sometimes faltering, but always loyal, friend. However, he was not a complainer. He never spoke a word about the late nights, endless mounds of paperwork, or cramped conditions they sometimes had to work in during cases. He kept these thoughts and observations to himself, rarely breathing a word of discomfort outward. Now, however, Emily saw his frustration, and she couldn't stop herself when she reached for his hand.

"It will get better, Reid." Spencer stared at her nails, which were wrapping between his fingers. "I promise you. It will get better. You'll be better." When he met her eyes, Emily noticed the doubt etched within the hazel orbs.

"You don't know that." Suddenly, Emily's posture straightened and a small smile morphed her facial expression into a glow.

"Actually," Emily's look warmed Reid from the inside, "I do. You told me once yourself that things got better if you talked through them and if you let them out into the open." He nodded, remembering her visit while he was in rehab.

"Let me help you, Reid. I want to help you." They two agents locked eyes again, releasing when each one knew the other understood. Reid looked at the woman with a strong, attentive, and concerned gaze sitting on his couch, poised and waiting for his emotional baggage as calmly as she'd wait in line at a grocery store or bank. He thought about all the hurtful words he had once hurled in her direction, especially when he had been using and spiraling down some dark rabbit hole, unsure if he'd ever emerge. Thoughts of their late-night diner conversation floated above his head somewhere by the ceiling, and Reid recalled Emily's tear-stained face at the rehab center, felt her probing questions after Gideon's departure, and saw her bewildered look as he shoved his gun at her a few hours prior. What he wanted to say was he didn't deserve her support, her love, but he knew it would be pointless anyway. If it wasn't Emily, it would be Morgan, JJ, or even Garcia. He sighed, staring at the floor to garner a strand of courage.

"I don't know how to explain..." Reid confessed.

"Just start anywhere." Emily encouraged. Reid watched her for a moment, recalling the last line of the serenity prayer: _And the wisdom to know the difference. _If he was smart, as Reid knew he was, he'd talk. Taking a deep breath, Reid began to unearth his ghosts in the half-lit living room.

"I don't know why it's so bad, but I want to forget. I want to forget more than anything..." Prentiss nodded, and the motion stung tears at the corner of Reid's eyes.

"If I had an eidetic memory, I'd want to forget something once and a while too." Emily broke the tension with a joke, albeit a lame one, but it had the effects she had hoped for: Reid chuckled to himself, shaking his head in her direction, amused but unsure how to respond.

"I know I should have said something, Emily. I know you guys all would jump to help, but..." Reid trailed off when a red shame burned his cheeks. Taking the lead, Emily spoke.

"We don't think you're weak, Reid. We never would. Actually," This time, it was Emily's turn to be embarrassed, and she gave the floor her attention, "When I first met you, I was surprised how strong you were." Reid's head shot upwards in surprise. He had been called a lot of things before, mainly intelligent, but strong? Never strong.

"Yeah, Morgan can tear down a door and Hotch's stare can turn blood to ice," Reid chuckled again and Emily smiled at the sound, "But you, Reid..." Her voice softened, "You don't just see things as they are or as they were. You see them as they could be." Prentiss pause partly for emphasis and partly to attempt to control her wavering tone.

"I can't tell you how relieved, awed, and comforted I felt when I saw that trait in you." Reid's face contorted in confusion. Prentiss was talking in circles and his mind was spinning in attempts to play some warped game of catch up.

"I think that if you do this job long enough you don't know how to look forward anymore, Reid." She sent him a sad, small, knowing smile."You forget that not everything or everyone is so jaded." Reid opened his mouth, but immediately closed it. Prentiss seemed poised to say more and, besides, he had no idea how to respond to such kind words.

"We look back so much. We're trained to see what _was _and what _is,_ Reid, but I think we all stopped looking for what _could be_ a long time ago. You, however," Emily stopped to clear her constricted throat, "you don't. And I don't think I've ever told you how much I admire you for still having that ability."

"Emi-"

"I don't think I've ever told you how you inspire me to be a better person, but you do. You always have." Reid opened his mouth to protest, but Emily squashed his rebuttal before it was voiced.

"I mean that, Reid. Every word." Reid knew he was crying, and he knew Emily was too, but neither one dropped their gaze. In all his life, he hadn't ever received such a compliment. Thank you wasn't appropriate. He tried to convey his appreciation, but no words formed. Outside the apartment, a faint, distant car horn echoed through the empty streets. It was so quiet, so still, Reid could hear his wall clock ticking away each second, each moment, of the rapidly diminishing night.

"The cravings are different than before. I've even imagined using again and, when I do, I can feel everything all over again..." He finally spoke with cracked words, breaking the connection with what needed to be said. Emily nodded, leaning into the couch cushions. Her tense muscles eased, and she never dropped her look from Reid's. In her eyes, he saw understanding, empathy, and complete trust. A gush of affection for Emily made Reid's cheeks darken, but he kept on talking, pushing through the walls he had haphazardly attempted to build these past few weeks. Emily wore an understanding look, showcasing a feeling Reid knew was true:

_Believe me when I say I know exactly how it feels._


	58. Chapter 58

**Hi everyone. Sorry about the delay. Real life has been chaotic lately. Before you read the below, please keep in mind that I used my poetic license concerning FBI security rules and military rules and regulations. This chapter is set sometime between episode 4.3, "Minimal Loss" and episode 4.4, "Paradise."  
**

**Happy reading! :)**

* * *

_"I'm coming to terms. I'm starting to learn this ain't all it's cracked up to be...It's never as easy as we believe." -Carolina Liar, "Coming to Terms."  
_

* * *

"Look, sir, I don't have my license, but I have a military ID. Actually, if you read it, it says, very clearly, that I'm Special Operations with the Department of Defense. More accurately, the United States Army."

"And I don't care if it says you're the damn President. You need more than one ID to enter the FBI headquarters." Mike gave a long, exasperated sigh. The security guard crossed his arms over his protruding stomach, tilting his head downwards so he could see over the thick rim of his glasses. The tall, athletic man in his pressed military uniform was pink with agitation. _Oh well_, the security guard thought with a slight surge of amusement, _rules are rules_.

"I'm trying to surprise a friend who works here."

"Does he know you're coming?" The security guard asked. "If he does, then I can call him down here and he can escort you into the building."

"Do you not understand the meaning of the word _surprise_?" Mike asked, rolling his eyes.

"Look, buddy. It's a good idea and all, but, if you don't have two IDs, you can't come in, end of story." Mike groaned audibly.

"I'm shipping out tomorrow. I just wanted to surprise a friend before I do. _Come on_," Mike urged, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, "Help me out here."

"Sorry, GI Joe. Those are the rules."

"Fine!" Mike growled. "Contact him! Dr. Spencer Reid! He works in the Behavior Analysis Unit!" The security guard rolled his eyes, reaching for his cell phone to contact the technician who could notify the BAU. However, before the ringing stopped, a tall, blue-eyed, blond-haired Goddess approached. The security guard fumbled with the receiver before placing it back into its holder. GI Joe could wait until _she _passed through the checkpoint.

"Mike?" At the voice, Mike spun on his heels. The security guard straightened his posture, whipping away crumbs leftover from his morning croissant.

"What are you doing here?" JJ gave Mike a hug, blushing slightly as her extended stomach made the movement difficult.

"Well," Mike glared at the security guard. "I wanted to surprise Spencer, but I don't have two forms of identification." JJ's face etched with understanding. She turned towards the blushing, heavyset guard.

"Larry, I can vouch for this man. This is Mike Lambert, Special Operations with the United States Army." Larry's cheeks went from pink to crimson at JJ's words.

"Well, Miss Jareau , if I had known he knew you too, I woulda let him in." JJ pressed her lips together in order to suppress a giggle when she heard Mike whisper "eat shit."

"You're just doing your job." JJ sympathized with large, empathetic eyes. Larry nodded, dumbfounded. "I understand." When JJ placed a reassuring hand on Larry's forearm, he jumped, sputtering flustered instructions about visitor's badges before whisking the two through the first stage of security.

In about ten minutes, they had cleared the medical detectors, weapons check, and Mike had been presented with a visitor's badge, which he was pinning onto a spot on his uniform.

"It's a good thing I came in through the front entrance this morning." JJ explained, turning into the familiar hallways with Mike at her side. "I usually try to go in the back way."

"I can see why you'd avoid it. That Larry guy is a creep." JJ snorted.

"He's harmless. Actually, he has a bit of a crush on me..."

"A bit?" Mike countered. "You're lucky he's not at the checkpoint where they frisk you. He'd love that..."

"Trust me," JJ laughed, "I could take him."

"Now that," Mike grinned, "Is something I'd like to see." The hallway was approaching an end, and Mike watched a glass door approach.

"You're really lucky things are slow right now." JJ mentioned. "We're out on cases a lot of the time." Mike nodded.

"Do you think he'll be surprised?" JJ stopped, surveying Mike's hardened eyes, angular jawline, and thin lips.

"He'll be thrilled." She reassured. Mike felt his tense muscle unfurl. Through the glass door, he scanned the bustling room for Spencer, spotting him at his desk bent over paperwork. His back was curved and pointed upwards, hand gripping a pencil, and, when he looked a bit lower, Mike saw his feet tapping to a nonexistent beat. Although Reid's hair was shorter than he remembered, he was just as tall and lanky as Mike recalled.

"I missed that kid when I left." Mike chuckled. "He grows on you, statistics and all." JJ laughed warmly, running her hand through her hair.

"How long has it been?" Mike's eyes traveled upwards as he calculated.

"About a year and a half."

"When are you due?" Mike asked, changing the subject. JJ smiled at her stomach, placing a hand on the bump's top.

"A few weeks." Mike nodded, throat suddenly dry. Noticing his uneasiness, JJ took Mike by the arm, pushing him through the door before he had a chance to protest.

"JJ," he hissed, "What the hell..." Mike didn't have a chance to argue further because they reached the cluster of desks in the bullpen.

"Morning, Jayj..." Garcia _had _to be dreaming. _Who _was JJ towing into the building. And _why_, for the love of sweet Jesus, had she never been introduced to him before? When she met Prentiss's wide eyes, Penelope fluffed her hair, leaning on the side of the brunette's desk. Internally, Garcia was thankful that she wore her favorite, flattering top and a ruffled skirt that showed just enough leg. Emily stood from her chair, painfully aware of the muffin crumbs trailing from her shirt to the floor. Why had she chosen today to wear the too baggy in the ass pants?

"Guys," JJ said to Morgan, and a very attentive Prentiss and Garcia. Reid was so immersed in his paperwork he didn't look up. "This is Mike Lambert, Special Operations with the Army."

"Nice to meet you." Morgan gave a quick, respectful nod, shaking Mike's hand. "SSA Derek Morgan."

"SSA...I'm Emily..." Prentiss trailed off, not bothering with her full title, leaving her left arm half-extended. Jumping at her chance, Garcia stood, teetering on her heels from the bolt of movement.

"I'm Penelope Garcia." She said, smiling seductively."Tech Goddess of the BAU." From his desk, Morgan simultaneously grinned and rolled his eyes, offering Mike a knowing explanation.

"Sorry, Mike. We don't get many visitors, particularly _male _visitors." He shot his drooling female colleagues a look. Prentiss regained some of her usual composure, and Garcia swooned and attempted to balance.

"It's nice to meet you all," Mike said, suddenly shy and frightened. He didn't know who this tech woman was, but her deadlock stare was making him extremely uncomfortable. Mike pulled at his shirt, feeling the cloth stick to the back of his neck.

"Hey Garcia?" Morgan began.

"Mmmm?" She asked, never keeping her eyes off Mike, who was staring at the floor intently.

"Don't you have that thing you have to do?"

"Nope," Garcia answered almost immediately. "No things to do..." Mike cleared his throat, throwing Morgan a pleading look.

"So you're telling me that you're all caught up on your work, including the paperwork from our last case?" Morgan asked. This time, Garcia frowned in his directions, eyes shooting daggers. If Morgan wasn't so used to dealing with criminals, his blood would have turned to ice from her stare alone.

"Actually, you're right, Derek." Morgan swallowed deeply. She would give him hell later, her use of his first name versus a pet name told him that, but it was nothing a bit of sweet talking and a dimpled smile couldn't fix. Garcia turned her undivided attention back to Mike.

"I'm sorry. I have to get to work." Garcia told him, keeping her eyes fixated on Mike's. At the base of his neck, Mike felt more sweat pool. This woman, even with her brightly colored hair and cheery outfit, was a force to be reckoned with, and Mike, for as strong and brave as he was, did not want to know what was hiding underneath the gleam in her eyes.

"It was nice meeting you," Garcia winked, sauntering towards her office, hips swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Morgan sent Mike another apologetic look.

"Careful of that one," he joked. "She'll do a number on you." Mike nodded, not catching the banter.

"She has a boyfriend." Morgan explained, still chuckling. _But I don't, _Emily thought, sending Mike the silent message. Mike nodded again, swallowing deeply before he spoke.

'Is she..."

"Completely harmless." JJ laughed.

"Or so we think..." Emily added darkly, watching Garica disappear around the corner.

"Oh," Mike let out the breath he had been holding in for so long. From his desk, Reid was still oblivious to his teammates and Mike. He shifted in his chair, craning his neck even further downward. His back arched at an odd angle, and JJ, noticing his colleague's sitting position, thought that Reid must have some very tense muscles from his hunched position.

"Like I said," Morgan continued, "We don't get many males in here unless we're interviewing witnesses, suspects, or family members." Prentiss's cheeks turned red and she glanced downwards before mumbling loudly.

"It's not like _you _and _Reid _are anything nice to look at." JJ couldn't help but laugh, sinking into the spot on the desk that Garcia had just occupied. Seeing her feeble maneuver, Emily shot from her chair, pulling it outward. JJ took it gratefully, allowing Emily to help her ease into its support.

"Speaking of..." Morgan began, grabbing a hacky sack off his desk. In one motion, it sailed over their working space and hit Reid directly in the left temple.

"Hey, Pretty Boy. Stop being impolite. We have company." Reid already was on-edge while completing his paperwork concerning his time in the Colorado cult, but, now, he visibly tensed, staring at the dark pencil line adulterating his once pristine report.

"I swear to God, Morgan-" He had planned on saying more, mainly about how he wouldn't be finishing Morgan's stack of paperwork, but, when Reid turned his eyes upward, all words left him.

"Hey Spenceropedia."

"Spenceropedia? I'll have to use that one." Morgan told Mike and the two chuckling female agents.

"I kind of like Pretty Boy," Mike teased. Reid stood, still unable to believe his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" He stuttered, words cracking in surprise.

"He's been here for about five minutes, Reid." Emily said, her voice flat with sarcasm. Glancing at Prentiss, Reid saw how her hair was styled to hide the faded bruises on her face. He looked away.

"Yeah, Spence." JJ began, "I'm surprised you didn't see the pool of drool Garcia left behind."

"Really?" Reid asked everyone with flushed, embarrassed cheeks.

"Sorry," he turned towards Mike, "I didn't realize...I guess...wait, what are you doing here?" Reid's face contorted into confusion once more.

"I ship out tomorrow and I wanted to come say hi and surprise you. However, Larry the troll turned security guard almost stopped me." From her side of the desks, Prentiss snorted.

"And your tech worker, analyst... she devil..." This time, Reid laughed with everyone else. "She's a frightening woman."Spencer wished he had been paying more attention. What, _exactly_, had Garcia done? He made a mental note to talk to her later. Reid stared at his coworkers, who were all watching the exchanged with amused expressions.

"The cafeteria has decent coffee. Do you want some?" He offered.

"That sounds great."

"Can you tell Hotch I'll be back soon?" Morgan, JJ, and Emily nodded in unison. "If there's a case..."

"We'll call you." Morgan reassured. Reid said thank you with a quick tilt of his head.

Mike smiled, turning towards JJ. "Thanks again." He put his palms outwards to stop JJ from standing to say goodbye."And good luck with everything." She glanced at her stomach before meeting his eyes.

"You too, Mike."

"It was nice meeting you all." Mike shook both Morgan and Emily's hands. Derek watched as Reid and Mike matched long strides as they walked across the room. Reid had already started to ramble to Mike about the BAU's history and the fading sound drifted towards the remaining teammates.

"_How _did I miss _him _on Thanksgiving?" Emily exclaimed to JJ once Mike and Reid were out of earshot.

"He had already been discharged," JJ explained, breaking off a piece of Emily's half-eaten muffin.

"That's not even remotely fair!" Emily crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. "I met some hairy, Italian guy. I mean, he was funny and all, but-"

"And where, exactly, did you meet these people, ladies?" Morgan questioned, eyes narrowing in the direction of his two female coworkers.

"Well..." JJ said before shoving more muffin in her mouth in order to evade answering. Stray crumbs broke off and fell onto her stomach. JJ struggled for a few moments to brush them off her shirt, finally sighing in defeat when she couldn't maneuver herself to do so.

"Cut the shit, Morgan." Emily stated sarcastically. "You know we went to visit Reid when he was in..." Emily trailed off, glancing at the surrounding agents in the bullpen before lowering her voice, "rehab." Morgan grinned, reaching across the desk tops to retrieve his hacky sack.

"Yeah, I do, but it's nice hearing you finally admit it."

"You're an ass." Emily said, giving Morgan a playful shove in the arm. Prentiss leaned across the desks, grabbing a few of her files and sticking them into the middle of Reid's pile, which was smaller than both hers and Morgan's. As Prentiss took Reid's vacant chair, the media liaison stopped eating Emily's breakfast in order to send a questioning look.

"I'm totally slipping Reid some now that I have a chance." Emily grinned wickedly.

"Me too!" Morgan jumped.

"Guys," JJ began with wide eyes. "That's not fair-"

"Hey, he won't even notice." Emily defended. "You saw how he was when Mike walked in."

"You were a bit unresponsive too." Morgan teased. Emily shot him a fiery look.

"No, I mean it's really unfair. Can someone go grab some of mine? I would, but I'm like a beached whale right now." The media liaison complained. Morgan laughed at JJ's whine, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder before heading towards her office.

* * *

Reid and Mike situated themselves at a table in the cafeteria with steaming cups of coffee. Around the two men, the room was crowded with FBI employees who were grabbing breakfast and caffeinated beverages. It wasn't too late in the morning, and most agents probably hadn't even been to their desks or offices yet. Reid, however, had arrived early to catch up on some paperwork. More accurately, he knew he'd have to stop procrastinating finishing the Colorado file. Hotch had already asked for it twice, and Emily had completed hers almost immediately. Reid sensed while she was eager to forget and leave it behind, he was hanging onto what happened. Deep down, he couldn't help the taunting thought that he should have been beaten instead of Emily.

"How are you?" Reid asked. Mike mixed his concoction of sugar, cream, and coffee before answering.

"I'm doing well. I'm still clean." Reid grinned, carefully sipping his own coffee. This was his third cup already, but he was not about to attempt a private discussion with his teammates around. The cafeteria had been the closest and safest alternative to the bullpen, as its loud backdrop was the perfect place to assure that a sensitive conversation would not be overheard.

"How's the baby?" Reid asked quickly, internally berating himself for forgetting until now. Mike smiled so wide Reid thought his face would break.

"He's great. He had his first birthday a few weeks ago." As he spoke, Mike reached for his pocket, taking out a few snapshots for Reid to see. Reid studied the cake and frosting covered chubby-cheeked child with bright green eyes accented by a tuft of dark brown hair.

"He has your eyes." He told Mike, who smiled again.

"My fiance, Jillian, says I'm lucky that's all he has," he joked. Reid laughed, returning the photos to Mike while silently acknowledging that the last time he had seen him, Jillian had been his girlfriend. He watched as Mike slipped the pictures into his breast pocket. For a moment, the two men remained quiet, sipping their coffees and avoiding eye contact.

"So, how have _you _been, Spencer?" Reid shifted in his seat, hands wrapping around the cardboard cup. The coffee was still too hot and the warmth seeped through. Although Reid felt the familiar burn against his palms, he did not pull away.

"Okay. Some of the cases we've had have been difficult." Mike nodded, as if he understood everything about psychopaths, murder scenes, and digging into the brains of the deranged. Then again, Reid figured, maybe he did. Reid cleared his throat before continuing.

"One of our members left too."

"It's always hard to lose a friend." This time, Mike's eyes showcased a comprehension Reid knew all too well. He swallowed deeply, forcing thoughts of Gideon back to the proper compartment inside his mind.

"He didn't die, or retire, he just up and left, actually. I was kind of his shadow...his protege, I guess..." Mike took a long swig of coffee, watching how Reid kept his gaze on the table. Spencer's face drooped, and Mike felt a surge of anger. Mike wanted to go find this supposed team member and tell him a thing or two about the consequences of leaving a friend, particularly one of his friends.

"I'm sorry, kid. I really am. I don't know what to say..." Reid lifted his eyes from the wooden slab, meeting Mike's with a small smile.

"There's really nothing to say. The job finally caught up with him. I don't agree with how he left, but I understand why he did."

"How are _you_, though." Mike emphasized softly. Reid stared into his light brown coffee.

"I've stayed clean, but it's been more difficult, I guess, than I thought it would be." He admitted. Mike gave a hardened chuckle.

"I know. I didn't expect it to be this bad, random, or strong." Reid nodded vehemently at Mike's words. A few times, when he had been desperate enough to voice this to Morgan, or anyone else on the team, he had stopped himself. For one reason or another, Reid didn't think they'd need to hear it. He rationalized they'd jump into panic mode without giving him the chance to explain everything. However, hearing Mike's revelation relieved him. He wasn't the only one.

"I mean, they told us about cravings and falling back into old habits, but I dunno...I guess I just assumed that it was over, you know?" Mike asked, watching Reid's eyes fill with understanding.

"I do. I took what we were told as a warning, but you're right." Reid met Mike's hardened stare. "I haven't told anyone on my team this, but using hasn't been far from my mind. I can go a long time and then there's a case, someone leaves, something happens, or I have a nightmare, and I'm suddenly thinking about getting high...about using...about returning to the very thing that almost destroyed me..." Reid admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, kid. I really do." Reid shifted in his chair, long fingers wrapped under around his coffee cup. He stared at Mike's unreadable expression, crew cut, and hard-set features

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to," he rushed, "but I was wondering how you can return to battle again with a documented drug addiction?" Mike nodded slowly, as if he had expected the question and was not all surprised by Reid's curiosity.

"I thought I wouldn't be able to too, but they said something about how I admitted the problem on my own, sought treatment, followed every order, and passed all the random piss tests they've made me take..."

"But you think there's a different reason?" Reid queried, profiling Mike's wandering eyes and drumming fingertips.

"You really are a good profiler, kid." Reid returned the smile Mike sent across the table. "I think that special ops are hard to come by. I've seen a few tours before and I know what to expect, and they know it just as much as I do."

"Are you...afraid?" Reid asked, wondering if Mike would understand his reference both to combat and to relapsing. When Mike's eyes lit, Reid knew he had comprehended the insinuation.

"I'm always nervous before I deploy." Mike mentioned, eyes falling to the table top. "But this time I understand how dangerous the aftermath can be, but I also know I can ask for help too."

"Sometimes admitting you need help is more terrifying than why you need the help." Reid mumbled, unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

" It's different now, though." Mike eased his position to a more relaxed one. "Unlike before, I know I can work through things." Reid nodded, purposefully avoiding Mike's gaze, knowing the man had sensed the black cloud following him around, hanging above his head, and raining down with sleepless nights, flashbacks, and old, too familiar, urges.

"There's nothing wrong with admitting you need a little push and shove in the right direction, kid. Nothing at all." Reid bit his lip, trying to hid from Mike's knowing stare, wondering how to phrase what he desperately wanted and needed Mike to hear.

"Just...well, you know...I..." Mike grinned, showcasing a set of pearly whites. He missed Reid's awkwardness and rambling.

"Don't worry, Spenceropedia. I'll be careful." Reid sighed in relief. His job was dangerous too, but there was something fundamentally different about war. Hearing that Mike was deploying had sent shivers of fear up and down his spine.

"You too, by the way." Mike paused for another swig of coffee. "I noticed your piece." Reid stared at the gun in its holster attached to his waist. What he didn't say was how much he disliked having it and how he really loathed using it. He respected Mike and his career choice, but had no idea how Mike could serve in the military.

"So it's my turn to ask you something you may not know how to answer now." Mike said and, although his tone was light, Reid sensed the seriousness etched within. He nodded, fidgeting in his seat.

"How come you haven't told anyone on your team about wanting to use again?" _Fuck, _Reid thought instinctively. _I should have seen this one coming. _Spencer sighed, biting his lip.

"We have a new agent." Reid explained as Rossi's face came to mind. "Well, he's not so new anymore. He helped create the BAU and returned to replace the agent that left. He doesn't know about...what happened. I can't just go talking about everything in front of him. That goes for whoever replaces JJ while she's on maternity leave too." Mike's eyes narrowed in Reid's direction. He looked away.

"Strike one, kid." Reid sighed.

"I dunno, Mike. I mean, I think they'll understand, but I don't want to worry them. Everyone I work with has their own problems. I don't want them to think I am using again because that's not the case, but I don't know if Morgan or Emily or any of them would understand why I feel so distracted sometimes. It's not like I can work that into normal conversation..."

For a moment, Reid envisioned trying to talk to Morgan, Hotch, Garcia, or Emily over dinner. Between takeout boxes, he'd ask one of them to pass the sweet and sour chicken his way, and then he'd drop the bomb: "So guys," Reid's own voice echoed in his ears. "I'm having a hard time again. Not like I was right after Tobias, but I'd love, just for one night even, to shoot up again. I want the release so bad that it makes my head spin." Something told Reid that wouldn't work.

"Have you tried?" Miked asked. Reid groaned audibly.

"What do you think?" He shot back.

"That's strike two." Mike smiled and Reid resisted the urge to scream.

"What do you want me to say then?" He questioned with a little too much force. Mike's eyes softened, and he leaned across the table to speak in a low voice filled with concern.

"You and I both know, kid, that if you start keeping everything to yourself again, you're going to be in a whole world of trouble." Reid ran his hand over his face in a very Morgan-like motion. The sounds of the cafeteria's other conversations swirled around them, melting into garbled words Reid could not separate.

"There was a case..." He sighed finally. "Emily and I had to enter a compound under the guise that we were child interview experts..." Reid hesitated, unsure of how much he, legally, could reveal. Mike waited for Reid to continue, meeting his eyes. Reid found it hard to look away.

"It's a long story, but our cover was blown. The leader asked which one of us was an agent. He pointed his gun right at me..." Reid, stopped when Cyrus's voice came back to him: _God will forgive me for what I must do_. The whole situation had felt familiar. Too familiar. He had tried to play dumb, asking Cyrus how and why, but Reid knew he had spiraled backwards to the Hankel case until Prentiss's composed voice brought the situation full circle. What the hell was it about him that provoked crazed, religious fanatics into threatening his life? He closed his eyes when the image of Emily being dragged by her hair surged forward, flickering into the empty space between he and Mike.

"Emily said she was the FBI agent, Mike. She willingly was beaten and hurt so I wasn't. And she says she'd do it again..." Reid inhaled, running his hand through his hair. Mike recalled the faded bruises on the brunette agent's face. She had tried to style her hair, but he had seen the markings all the same.

"She said it's not my fault, but I can't help but feel responsible. Does that make sense?" Reid asked. Mike's head bobbed up and down.

"And why haven't you said anything to anyone on the team? I think they'd understand. I'm sure they were just as concerned for your safety and well being as they were Emily's." Reid nodded, swallowing deeply and staring at the liquid left in his cup.

"I know." He admitted. "I know I've been making excuses."

"We all do it, kid." Mike explained, leaning back in his seat.

"What do I do, though?" Reid cleared his throat when his voice cracked. "I don't really have any idea how to manage this..." He refused to meet Mike's eyes when thick, hot, and relentless shame collected in his angular cheekbones.

"Going to meetings has helped me. There's always someone to talk to." Reid's head shot up. How did Mike know he was contemplating attending another clean cops meeting? The last time was right before the Owen Savage case. That had felt like a lifetime ago. Although they shouldn't have, John's words had surprised him then: _You will one day. _Reid realized he understood now. Deep down, he got it.

"I should give that a try." Mike smiled at Reid's words.

"It helps. It does. It's weird an all, but you know it helps." Reid nodded, swallowing deeply. This openness made him miss Mike, Tony, and Dr. B. He was better, he knew he was, but sometimes addiction was not far from his mind, as it lurked in every shadowed corner.

"You're not perfect, Spenceropedia. Even if you know what India's main export is." Mike tried to lighten the conversation, and Reid took the bait, grateful for the distraction.

"Human hair." Reid answered automatically. Mike smiled fully this time.

"My point exactly." He said through a slight chuckle.

A comfortable silence fell over the two once again until the loud vibrations of Reid's cell phone intruded through the stillness. Looking down, Reid saw Morgan's text: _We have a case. Conference room in ten. _

"I have to go..." He apologized, draining the last drag of coffee while standing. Mike followed suit, following Reid into the hallway after they had discarded their empty containers. They continued in silence until the looming presence of the security checkpoints were blurred, distant images.

"Thanks." Reid finally said, meeting Mike's eyes. Mike stared at him for a moment before speaking in a soft voice.

"My son's name is Paul." Reid's face crinkled in confusion before the dawning of understanding smoothed his features once more.

"After Dr. B," he smiled. "That's a great name, although I think Tony may be mad you didn't name your son after him..." Mike laughed.

"I saw him too." Mike mentioned suddenly. "He's the same. Still sober too." A few times, Spencer had written Tony emails, but he hadn't stopped by to say hello, even though they had a case or two in New York. He felt guilty over his actions, but, sometimes, Reid yearned to just put everything behind him. He'd never forget, but he was sick of the past always chasing him around.

"That's good." Reid said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"So, Dr. Reid." Mike grinned. "Until next time?" Mike's hand suspended between the two men, and Reid stared at his long fingers before meeting the handshake.

"Until next time." He agreed. Mike nodded, catching Spencer's eyes one last, quick moment. As he watched Mike's strong strides, Spencer saw the Mike hunched over a row of plants. He remembered how Mike willingly shared his painful story with Reid on a checkered couch, and he heard his clear voice singing into a darkened auditorium. Those moments felt like ages ago, but the lessons he had learned in rehab, the ones he was still trying to uncover, were far from over and complete. Reid waited until Mike disappeared beyond the metal detectors to return to his team.

* * *

"How was coffee?" Morgan ask when Reid collapsed into his designated chair in the conference room. Pulling his case file closer to him, Reid answered Morgan without meeting his gaze.

"Good. It was nice to catch up." He felt Morgan's eyes on him, accepting his need for silence without really understand it. A feeling of warmth bubbled upwards, and Reid sent a lopsided smile to Prentiss as he leaned back in his seat. Hotch entered the room with his usual brisk steps and took the chair next to him, meeting the youngest member's gaze with a curt nod. Next to Prentiss, Rossi met Reid's eyes for a moment, attempting to formulate a reason for the younger colleague's late arrival and Reid's purposefully unemotional facial expressions. Reid had no way to explain how familiar, and welcomed, this room, this circular table, and teammates felt. They were home. They were family. They were his past, present, and future. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he reached for his, not John's, one year chip, smiling when his fingertips grazed its surface.

He could never explain.


	59. Chapter 59

**Before you read this, please note the following:**

**1. This chapter details each team member's reaction following episode 4.24, "Amplification." For the sake of this addition, let's pretend I have some medical knowledge about Anthrax infection...  
**

**2. The Latin version of the Lord's Prayer was researched online and was incorporated using my basic, rusty, and minuscule knowledge of Latin and religion. I don't mean to use this prayer offensively or oppressively. Honestly, I'm not a religious person, so it's more a stylistic usage than anything else.  
**

**3. I used a portion of the Wendell Berry poem,****_ The Peace of Wild Things_**, and the entire Berry poem, **_A Spiritual Journey. _Both poems are italicized and are not cited as they would be a research paper; instead, they're worded as a speaker would recite the lines.**

**4. All skin cancer facts and statistics I've used are from the Skin Cancer Foundation's website.**

**I'm not sure anyone is actually reading this anymore, but I'm way too stubborn to stop writing/editing this story now. There are only a few chapters left. For those of you who are still reading, and especially for those of you who are still reviewing, thank you.  
**

* * *

_"You say that love goes anywhere. In your darkest times, it's just enough to know its there." -Jimmy Eat World, "Polaris."_

* * *

The world separated into fragments, morphing together at a maddening trickle. Adjacent, rhythmic beeps became the tempo that the sterile white room pulsated to, and Reid blinked to align the warped view. His throat burned with dryness, his body ached with overwhelming shocks of pain that caused immediate wetness to pool at his lids, but, as more and more of the surroundings evenly lined with one another, Spencer Reid became aware that he was alive. And, damn. It hurt to be alive.

A hunched figure that was darker than the intrusive fluorescent lighting and brilliantly white, scratchy hospital sheets hadn't noticed he was awake. Reid flicked a parched tongue over his cracked lips. _Of course_ it was Morgan sitting by his deflated body in, yet another, hospital room. _Of course_ it was Morgan who never left has side. _Of course _it was Morgan who would stay until he was sure Reid was back to some altered, jaded form of okay. Reid wasn't sure if it was the residual effects of the Anthrax or his own issues with abandonment that made him surprised by Morgan's loyalty, but he was too damned tired and in way too much pain to contemplate the thought. With a twinge of jealousy, Reid watched Morgan shovel a red, wobbly substance into his mouth. _Jell-O, _he recognized after what felt like an agonizingly slow moment, _I love Jell-O. I wonder if there's any more..._

"Is there more Jell-O?" Morgan jumped, suddenly electrified with life, declaring Reid's new found level of consciousness. Between Dr. Kimura and his coworker's attention, Reid soon felt drained. He had been right about the antidote, as everyone had hoped, and he, and the remaining victims, had survived. The information felt too surreal, too oppressive, and, after this reassurance, Reid closed his eyes once more, falling asleep to Morgan's deep baritones as he spoke quiet words into his cell phone.

A thick fog haunted and covered his dreams: Morgan was there, following him everywhere. He was pushing him away from kids with guns, untying him from a cold goalpost, and his terrified looks reached through glass. _I'm so sorry, _Reid heard his own voice say. But, in this altered reality, he wasn't sure what he was sorry for or if this meant anything at all. He had saved the victims, although his own health had been sacrificed once again. Maybe, perhaps in another life, he'd look back at all of this and laugh. _Only_ Reid would get infected with Anthrax. _Only_ Reid would get kidnapped and threatened by religious fanatics. _Only_ Reid would have a drug problem...

At the memory of blissful narcotics surging through his system, Reid bolted awake, prepared to tell anyone with the ability to put a syringe near his IV that there was no way in hell he would let that happen. The heart monitor spiked and surged in alarm, but returned to its monotonous pacing once the room came into focus. Underneath his nose, the oxygen mask felt weighted, but it already hurt to breathe, so removing it, Reid understood, was out of the question. At his side, Morgan had fallen asleep with his legs propped on the bed's end and arms crossed across his chest. Reid watched his even breathing, wondering what day it was, what time, and, after a quick blurry observation at the windows, he concluded it was early morning. When the pain returned in waves of unforgiving taunts, he closed his eyes once more. One day, he'd find the strength and the courage to tell Morgan how grateful he was for the man's unwavering support; however, right now, he needed sleep.

* * *

It was morning when Reid woke again. Groaning, he struggled to sit upright. His body throbbed so badly he could feel each and every individual blood vessel path through his veins. His surroundings were slow to materialize, his lips caked and cracked, and his throat was lined with sandpaper. The room was oppressively white, and he whimpered again. In an instance that felt like years, someone moved to draw the shades, blocking the light with one motion.

"Thanks." His voice was barely audible and it sounded both foreign and disjointed. Reid blinked away the blurriness, managing to concentrate on the figure sitting next to him. The gears in his mushy, slow brain turned in an attempt to place the face, and he scrunched his eyes shut once more.

"Reid, do you need something?" It wasn't Morgan, that much he could tell, but, for the life of him, Spencer could not understand who was speaking. The voice was too light to be Hotch's, Morgan's, or Rossi's, but it was too weighted with the past to be anyone from outside the team. He inhaled deeply, feeling bile surge upwards in a large wave.

"I think I'm-" But the sentence did not finish, although the visitor, whoever it was, reacted with remarkable reflexes. Somehow, a pink, u-shaped plastic container was underneath his mouth and Reid vaguely registered that a soft, comforting hand traced small patterns on his back. The touch made the thin, abrasive fabric of the hospital gown assault his flushed skin, and he fought the urge to scream as the prickles turned into microcosms of pain once more. He retched until he spotted blood until finally flopping into a mound of pillows when exhaustion prevented any other movement. Behind closed lids, he heard the mystery visitor clean the basin with steps that told him that whoever it was had practice caring for others. He didn't open his eyes until the unrelenting decibel of hospital shuffling became a backdrop to the various monitors.

"Hey, Spence. How are you feeling?" It was JJ, as he had suspected deep down, but Reid couldn't help but notice how worried and pinched her expression was. Her lips were set in a fine line usually only reserved for Hotch when things were going catastrophically wrong. Her eyes, although etched with something he could not decipher, were canvassed with more anxiety than terror, and he noticed how her fingers shock when she grabbed for his hand, which felt wonderfully cool in his own.

"I've been better." He attempted to smile, but it turned into a racking cough that made him hunch forward, unable to grab for all the areas that protested in aching conjunctures. JJ jumped to action once more, helping Reid lean forward until the fit subsided, easing him back onto pillows that now felt remarkably comforting.

"Do you want some water?" He nodded, too tired to respond, and watched as JJ took the pitcher into her hands, pouring the glorious liquid into a small paper cup.

"Drink slowly," she instructed, carefully handing him the minuscule excuse for relief. Hell, he could drink a whole ocean right now, as long as something eased the torment ripping his throat into shards. Yet, he did as he was told, handing the cup back to JJ when a tremor sloshed half the water onto the tangled bed sheets. He watched again as JJ tidied the small beside table, refocusing her concentration onto his mangled bedding once that task was through. Her touch was remarkably gentle and Reid felt his tense muscle unfurl substantially once she had separated thin, abrasive cotton from his sweat-soaked skin.

"You don't have to do that, you know." He tried to tell her in a tone of gratitude, but, instead, his voice sounded unusually harsh and unused. She nodded, slipping fingers through her hair before leaning back into the hard plastic chair.

"You're going to be here for a while," she shot him a look that made his rebuttals stop before being voiced, "so you might as well be comfortable." He nodded, blinking slowly, trying to align the events of the last few hours.

"Will, Henry-"

"I saw them last night and earlier this morning, Reid. They understand why I'm here, and, besides, someone had to make Morgan go home and shower. He was starting to smell." JJ joked and smiled, but the warmth did not reach her still taunt expression.

"Is it morning?" He asked, suddenly terrified that all sense of time had evaporated. It could be twenty years later, and he wouldn't know at all. JJ nodded again before reaching for his hand once more.

"Reid," she began, biting her trembling lip. The blockade did nothing to stop its wobbling and soon, much sooner than he could stand, fat tears dribbled down JJ's paling cheeks.

"Don't you _ever _do that again." He opened his mouth, but closed it almost instantly when JJ shook her head in silent protest. Her flax colored hair shifted from side to side like the even ticking of a pendulum.

"I thought, we thought..." She turned her gaze away from him for a moment, staring anywhere but his sickly frame. Reid was sure he looked close to death because that was how he felt. He coughed again, albeit less violently than before, gripping JJ's hand until he could manage sharp, small inhalations of air.

"I can't lose you, Spence." He nodded, tears pooling at his own lenses. It wasn't a statement; it was a plea, and Reid felt the epiphany hit at the very center of his chest. For all his past reckless actions and behaviors, the end had been close this time. Too close.

"I'm sorry, JJ." She nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't apologize, but you better be prepared for Garcia. If you think I'm a wreck, I've got nothing on her." He laughed again, coughed even more, and allowed JJ to press a cool washcloth over his eyes. Reid wasn't sure how long she wiped the damp, cold relief to his forehead, but, with each stroke, he felt himself relax. The tightness in his chest lightened, and his eyelids became weighted with his recent exertions.

"I promise I'll always be here." He told her, unsure if the words actually left his lips or only swirled inside his mind. JJ peered at him through golden waves. The last thing he saw before the room faded from view was JJ's tears falling to meet his cheeks.

* * *

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adv ...Wait, shit. That's not right. Is it? Pater noster. Ughhhh!"

"I'm pretty sure that the Lord's Prayer doesn't have the word shit in it." Emily jumped at Reid's cracking tone, meeting the snow-white face accentuated by remarkably clear eyes staring into her dark ones. For a moment, Reid struggled to garner enough strength to pull himself upright. Emily placed gentle hands under his armpits, hoisting his remarkably light, frail body upwards with one fluid motion. Reid looked abashed, but the expression morphed into gratitude when this position relieved some of the clogging pressure weighing onto his lungs.

"I forgot the words." She explained to his earlier statement. He nodded, shaking hands reaching for the cup she passed him. The small sips of water felt like ecstasy to his burning throat. Now, if he could only find a way to spread this relief to every single muscle in his aching body.

"Since when do you pray?" He asked from behind closed lids. Emily shifted in the uncomfortable chair, ass far past the point of numb. Behind her, the muted television showcased a daytime talk show she had only been half-pretending to watch.

"Since when do you sequester yourself in a room filled with Anthrax spores?" Reid opened his eyes and grinned at her sarcasm.

"Touché." She snorted at his remark, pressing her lips into a thin, white line. Whether it was to suppress laughter or tears, Reid couldn't tell.

"How do you feel?" Reid considered the question for a long pause as he allowed more droplets of water to ease the patches of dryness lining his esophagus.

"Do you remember during our training when we had to run the timed two mile and then complete the obstacle course?" Emily nodded, brows furrowing in confusion.

"It feels like that, although I was exempt so I guess what I imagine that to feel like..." He joked, trailing off to cough once more. His skin felt like he was on fire and, weakness and breathing issues aside, all he wanted to do was bolt out of bed and the nauseatingly sterile hospital. What recovering from an Anthrax infection felt like was a very heightened set of withdrawals, but Reid wasn't about to detail another painful past experience, especially given the awful circumstances of the last day.

"Take the worst hangover you've ever had, add in a pretty bad beating, and then repeatedly run yourself over with a bus." He joked, attempting to smile while handing Emily the paper cup. She managed a weak laugh, helping Reid situate himself against pillows once more. Conversation and slight movement, no matter how little, made sleep wash over him with the blinding force of a freak winter snowstorm. Noticing Reid's drooping eyelids, Emily busied herself with his blankets and pillows, ignoring his fever shivers and pools of cold sweat.

"Hey, Em?" He managed to ask once she leaned into the stiff chair back.

"Yeah?" The softness in her voice enveloped him in a rich velvet cover of comfort.

"Can you stay awhile?" A slight breeze of air tickled his burning, exposed skin when Emily nodded yes. The room quickly turned quiet and the lull of machines and monitors dulled against the backdrop to the bustling hospital outside the door leading to his private room.

"I only pray," he heard Emily speak so softly he wasn't sure if she really was or he was imaging things again, "when I'm afraid I'll lose a friend. I pray when I'm afraid I'm losing an important part of my world. I only really pray when I'm petrified." He wanted to respond, but Reid wasn't sure he had the right words anymore.

"Don't do that again, Reid. I don't know if we, if I, can handle that type of scare again..." There was a brief suspended moment when Emily leaned forward, imprinting a light set of soft lips onto his forehead. Reid couldn't help but feel simultaneously grateful for and reassured by her physical presence and rare outward display of affection.

"I'm not going anywhere." He spoke, although, again, Reid was entirely positive he was. He heard a sniffle.

"You almost did, Reid." By now, this conversation had to be real, but it felt too strange. Emily was not an open person. Feelings, prayers, and tears were not her usual coping mechanisms, but her words, her admissions, were real, weren't they? Reid shifted slightly, trying to stay focused, but the room was melting into a congealed mold of whitewashed walls and prickled ceilings.

"Why Latin?" He heard himself ask as the eerie sound dripped from the walls.

"Habit I guess."

"You were right before, you know. The words were correct." Someone was speaking for him, Reid was sure of it, but he blinked again, and Emily's dark, swirling eyes came into momentary view.

"I guess it's been too long since I last prayed, though. I don't remember the whole thing."

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra..." He offered, not understanding how he could remember anything, never mind an ancient Latin prayer while he was in so much pain and his body was so laden with sleep. Somehow, the words had left his lips without a thought, as casual and as free as dandelion wisps floating in the spring breeze.

"Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris ..." Emily's voice shook, and he felt her cool fingers wrap around his scalding ones. He wanted to talk more, to tell her how afraid he had been too, especially when the aphasia had caught him off guard, but her voice felt more reassuring than any he had heard before. It worked as a lullaby, leading him to sleep and a pulling him deeper into a subconscious suspension of ease. Here, pain couldn't reach him. Here, destruction was not real. Here, his friends weren't afraid he might die. Here, he wasn't fighting against Anthrax, unsubs, or his inner demons. Here, he didn't want the painless oblivion of narcotics. Here, Reid heard Emily's soft chanting fill the empty spaces he had once thought were shattered forever.

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

* * *

The next time Reid woke, the windows showcased the fading, disjointed light of approaching evening. He waited for his muddled vision to straighten, watching a weak, quickly diminishing, ray extend through the half-parted curtain. At the side not occupied by monitors, a faint, rhythmic, and metal tapping told him who was visiting before he turned towards the woman wearing a light yellow top accentuated by dangling sunflower earrings and a mop of blond hair decorated with snazzy barrettes.

"Hey Garcia." He smiled at the way her knitting almost immediately dropped into her lap.

"Hey Junior G Man," her lips shook, but she leaned into kiss his head nonetheless. Reid had a vague, odd, memory of Prentiss doing the same thing.

"What are you making?" He asked, referring to her knitting projecting while slowly hoisting himself upwards. Still, the world spun, and he closed his eyes when waves of nausea threatened his uneasy stomach. Noticing Reid's discomfort, Penelope reached for his hand, tracing small, even circles by his knuckles. Surprisingly, Spencer felt the motion reel him away from the threat of vomiting in front of, yet another, coworker.

"Sorry." He apologized when he finally felt it was safe to open his eyes once more. Garcia gave his hand a small squeeze, glancing at her lap before leaning back in her chair.

"I'm making Henry a winter sweater." She answered his earlier question, holding up the project for Reid to see. For a moment, he feared that his godson would be donning some rainbow, wool concoction, but Garcia's knitting was well done and, surprisingly, tame. The light blue sweater had a small train picture beginning to form on its front.

"That's really good, Garcia." He said between coughs, noticing they hurt a bit less than last time. "I'm sure it will keep him warm." Garcia nodded, grabbing an over-sized handbag by her feet and stuffing the knitting tools into its depths. JJ's words came to mind, and Reid cringed at what he knew would come next. Behind scrunched eyes, he prepared himself for the fretted, worried tirade. When it did not come, he peered cautiously at Garcia, expecting to see tears. Instead, he saw a profoundly confused, yet somewhat admirable, look.

"You're expecting me to yell and rant at you?" She said this statement like a question and, even through the zenith of pain pulsating through his veins, Reid nodded, dumbfounded. Sometimes, he thought Garcia could easily be a profiler if it wasn't for her insane, almost other-worldly, computer hacking skills.

"Believe me, I thought about it." Garcia admitted with a slight bemused head shake, "but, even though I'm upset by your blatant disregard for you own well being, I'm more proud of you than anything." Reid blinked, the world became unfocused, and he blinked again.

"You are?" Apparently, Anthrax had made everyone act uncharacteristically. Between JJ's breakdown, Emily's praying, and Garcia's acceptance, he was starting to wonder about the male counterparts of his team. If Morgan came into his room later on tap dancing and talking about the wonders of glitter and the color pink, Reid figured he wouldn't even flinch in surprise.

"Reid," Garcia began, grabbing his hand once more. Anthrax, apparently, also made everyone want to touch him. "You saved all those people, you put your life on the line, yet you managed to work through a situation that would have crumbled most ordinary people, even Morgan." In spite of his increasingly rising temperature, dry throat, and throbbing body, Reid grinned.

"Just don't tell him I said that." Garcia joked, garnishing a genuine small in his direction. Without asking, she poured a small cup of water, delivering the cool comfort to his shaking fingertips.

"I need to thank you too, Garcia." He managed to say when fragments came back in a rush: the catch of the rose bushes, the dead body sprawled on the lab floor, the broken vial, and Morgan's large, pleading, and downright petrified eyes. Garcia's eyebrows moved at the statement.

"For what, sweet cheeks?" Sweet cheeks was one of the many pet names she called Morgan and Reid almost groaned audibly if it wasn't for the endearing look plastered on Garcia's expression.

"The video..." He trailed off suddenly embarrassed. Unlike other parts of his day, he remembered every painstaking word Garcia had willingly recorded for his mother. Death, at that point, had felt so impending that panic had taken hold. She _had_ to know how much she meant to him. He _had_ to tell her. If not, he wasn't sure anything, even his then fucked up situation, would have been worth it at all.

"Oh, Reid..." Garcia trailed off again, eyes filling and spilling over with tears. She remembered his loving address, his wide, frightened, eyes, and Garcia could vividly recall how her heart had dropped to the floor. It had hurt to breathe, but she did what she was asked, sequestering the video to a private folder. If the time came, Garcia promised herself, she would personally deliver the video. Yet, as she wiped the then tears off her cheeks, she hoped, God, she prayed even, that Reid's death would be pushed on some cosmic back burner.

"Can you..." He trailed off once more, placing the cup on his bedsides table. Without any real warning, he was exhausted. Garcia swatted at her eyes with fluorescent-colored nails before scooping Reid's bed sheets upwards. Spencer was aware that Garcia was tucking him in, like she would a small child, but the act felt more comforting than he'd ever admit.

"Can I what, Reid?" Garcia asked softly as the knitting needles began their low, even clinking once more. What he wanted to say was she should delete the video, should banish it completely from ever being seen again because, if she did, this situation, his Anthrax infection, would not be real. What felt like his imminent demise would not be on some garbled and repeated loop, playing over and over in his unconscious world.

"Make sure that video's hidden really well." He murmured. Garcia smiled, brushing Reid's damp hair away from his forehead.

"Of course, but don't worry. You're not going anywhere soon." She soothed his unspoken fears and, once more, he drifted off into a nameless oblivion.

* * *

_"I come into peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water_..." _Water, _Reid thought at the low, hushed tones, _Water would be amazing. _He stirred among his tangled sheets, blinking through the faint light in the hospital room. The tired, yet soft, voice was still reading a poem he recognized, but could not place. Reid opened his eyes until the slow motion world and the hunched image came into view.

_"And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting for their light."_ The deep baritone and rich words made sitting an easier task than it had been just mere hours earlier. The older man noticed he was awake, flicking a quick, but observing, eye over his thin, pale colleague. Reid's eyes were bloodshot, his skin damp and slick with sweat, but his look was attentive, his expression calm. The reader cleared his throat, turning back to the worn page and its faded ink to recite the last line.

_"For a time I rest in the grace of the world-"_

_"And I am free._" Reid finished, voice straining under the parchness lining his throat. A set of dark eyebrows moved towards the ceiling.

"I shouldn't be surprised that you know Wendell Berry, but, given that you were infected with Anthrax, I am surprised you can recall and recite it." Reid grinned at Rossi's admission, carefully reaching for the water cup in his Dave's outstretched hand.

"That's nothing," he joked. "I translated Latin with Prentiss earlier." A bemused, baffled, look met his own.

"How are you feeling?" Reid shrugged. What he wanted to say, but could not articulate, was how badly he wanted something, anything, to relieve the pain coursing through his entire body, burning holes into calcified bones.

"Alright. How's the team?" Rossi gave him a long look once more, dropping his gaze to the open book still situated in his lap.

"We're fine, Reid." His voice, although as firm as Reid had always remembered it being, was softer, and more fragile, than he had heard before. The man's expression was guarded, yet lined with exhaustion, concern, and something else Reid could not read. Rossi had always been a bit of a mystery to him, as he was to the older man. Spencer swallowed water, enjoying the cool path as it trickled to his stomach.

"You know, Reid." Rossi began, dark eyes finding a connection with Reid's. "You and I didn't exactly have the best start." Reid grimaced, remembering his eager reciting of Rossi's novels and, worse, his questioning of cases that Rossi, clearly, did not want to discuss. He recalled, with a certain trace of shame, Rossi's dark looks, his annoyed eye rolls, and his silent rebuttals to Reid's many inquiries.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, only to be stopped by Rossi's open palm. Reid busied himself with his small portion of water while the older man collected his thoughts.

"I think I owe you an apology, Reid." Rossi's voice was so gentle that Reid could not stand to meet the contemplative, remorseful look he knew was showing in the man's eyes. Is this what he had been ruminating over while sitting in Reid's dim hospital room?

"I assumed you were just a brain, just another eager student, and, to an extent you were and are," Rossi chuckled and then, only then, did Reid meet his lightened gaze, "but, Reid, you're strong, much stronger, than I, or anyone else, gives, gave, you credit for..."

"I-"

"I think about all these situations, all these convoluted, chaotic messes you've been able to withstand and understand and it makes me see you differently, kid." Apparently, being infected with Anthrax also meant his teammates could interchange nicknames so fluently.

"Thanks, Rossi." Unsure why the tears flew to his lenses, Reid peered at his long fingertips that matched the same white color of the hospital blankets. A thick silence hung in the air, and, when he took a deep breath to control his emotions, Reid began to choke. It wasn't until his coughing fit subsided, did Reid realize it was Rossi's hands leading him back to soft pillows. He was glad the older agent was there to help.

"What time is it?" Reid asked, spying a covered tray next to his bed. Rossi stood without needing an explanation, placing the wheeled table over the young man. Underneath the plastic barrier, a plate filled with food made Reid's taste-buds water and his stomach lurch.

"Around eight. You were asleep for dinner, but the nurses told me and Morgan that you'd probably want to try and eat later." Reid eyed the mashed potatoes tentatively, taking a minuscule bite with his hand shook around the plastic fork.

"Morgan came back?" He seemed to have some weird, disembodied memory of Derek perched and sleeping at his bedside. Rossi nodded, pretending not to notice Reid's difficulty eating. A twinge of anxiety prickled and lined his spine. The kid had an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, the brains to find an antidote while infected with a deadly biochemical agent, but he couldn't feed himself? Rossi swallowed past the large swirl of fright threatening to howl in protest at the sight of a severely addled Spencer Reid.

"Emily convinced him to go get some fresh air and some food. If not, I'm not sure he would have ever left." Reid swallowed, eyes brimming once more, and he stared at the peas, chicken, and potatoes that were swimming in washed-out mounds under his gaze.

"Where's Hotch?"

"Still neck deep in paperwork." Rossi explained and Reid nodded, knowing his reckless behavior had caused an extra forty pages at the very least.

"You guys don't have to keep watch, you know." He tried to keep his eyes away from the older agent, but Reid was sure his embarrassed, flushed cheeks gave away his emotions. He stabbed a pea too hard and it ricocheted off the tray to the floor.

"It's not a watch, Reid." Spencer snorted in disbelief.

"Consider it masochistic on our part." Rossi joked, "These plastic chairs are pretty painful after about ten minutes." Reid nodded again, wobbling a small smile at Rossi. The man did not return the gesture, but his look narrowed in Reid's direction. Reid tried to eat a mixture of peas and potatoes, mixing the two together halfheartedly. The chicken looked decent, but cutting the meat would require too much fine motor dexterity and far more energy than he had currently. Asking Rossi to cut his meat would be beyond the realm of embarrassment.

"I know you guys probably have stuff to do, though." He feebly protested, feeling his stomach churn. Placing the plastic fork down, Reid put a shaking hand over the utensil, blinked slowly in a futile attempt to stop what he knew was rocketing upwards.

"Really, I wouldn't mind if you guys had to leave..." Reid knew the argument was pointless as much as Rossi did, but what he wasn't expecting was Rossi's frank admission. The familiar, faded scent of cologne wafted towards his nostrils when Rossi spoke softly, and closely, at his side.

"I don't think anyone wants to go anywhere, Reid. You almost died." And the words, the realization, the one everyone had been tiptoeing around for some time now, exploded around him. Spencer saw his arms reach out, pushing the tray of lukewarm food outwards. Rossi moved, Reid was sure of it, and caught the tray's end, wheeling it to Reid's side. Spencer didn't know how or why, but he felt himself unfurling, wavering, and deteriorating. Unbelievably, his stomach protested at the smallest pieces of food he had managed to ingest, and he gagged into the pink u-shaped container that JJ had placed under his mouth hours, or lifetimes, ago.

When he was done releasing the contents of his stomach, Reid leaned into the pillows, listening to the muffled sounds of Rossi's cleaning. He was too far beyond ashamed to even muster an apology.

"Well," Rossi said once the bedside chair groaned with his weight, "I didn't think anyone could puke that much, but, once again, Dr. Reid, you've surprised me." Reid grinned at Rossi's lame joke, but felt his tense muscles ease nonetheless.

"Sorry." He winced when he turned towards Dave. It felt like his muscles were on fire and his skin singed to the bone. Rossi studied him with curious eyes before speaking in a quiet, composed, tone.

"Reid, Morgan repeatedly told the doctors you don't want any drugs for the pain. He was very explicit with that request..." Rossi trailed off, and Reid fought the desire to break eye contact. So it was time for _this _conversation. When his lips parted, no explanation came out.

"I don't know why you're rejecting medication, but no one would look at you any differently if you did relent. I'm sure you're in a lot of pain." Rossi's voice was still calm, so utterly unwavering, that Reid felt himself nod in agreement. He knew that was the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to detail Tobias, his addiction, and his sudden, intense, old, yet familiar, craving for Dilaudid. Dave simply peered at him as if he was seeing the young man for the first time. Reid met Rossi's eyes when he spoke, hoping a simple insinuation was all he needed for now.

"I know they team won't judge me and I know I could ask for something to make me feel better." He hesitated, running a trembling hand through his matted, sopping locks. Rossi tilted his head to the side and Reid sighed, bit his lip, looking at the adjacent wall before meeting Rossi's stare once more.

"You look miserable, Reid." For a moment, Reid thought of how much better he would feel if he allowed just one dose of bliss. One plunge of a syringe, and he'd be floating through earthquakes of aching and throbbing. Yet, he knew, somewhere he understood, that after the initial dose wore off, there would be another, and another, and then his carefully pointed years of sobriety would mean nothing. It wouldn't stop in the hospital either. There'd be an excuse, a case, a nightmare, an unsub, and he'd be spiraling downwards once more. Reid knew physical pain would not last. He would not remember these burning sensations, but mental anguish? That he'd store away for years, only unleashing it when the monster clawed its way out after losing, yet another, battle with black.

"It's just physical, Rossi. Your body doesn't remember physical pain." He tried to think of a fact, of a neat statistic, but the information would not come. Apparently, ancient languages and modern poetry were easier to recall than medical tangents.

"If this is about proving yourself, Reid, there's no need. You've already gone above and beyond the definition of strength." Rossi's voice, although straight, was very gentle. Too gentle. It was an infliction that told Reid the man knew, in every sense of the matter, what would soon be half-revealed.

"It's not about proving myself. It never has been, Rossi. I can't take anything. Not now. Not ever." He supposed he could have said he was allergic, but that would be a lie, and Rossi would have seen through that in a fraction of a second. He trusted the team; he trusted Rossi, and that had to be enough. When he saw the familiar spark of understanding, Reid sighed again while closing his eyes. He hoped that Dave could still see him as strong. Right now, he felt anything but. There was a long stretch of silence, an impending moment where Reid knew Rossi was toying with his words and confession, and he kept his eyes closed. He couldn't face the man, his superior, with the weight of his admission settling on every bare space of the room.

"Do you want to hear another poem? I have a whole anthology here." Surprised, Reid opened his eyes to meet a pair of accepting ones. Unable to speak past the lump of gratitude in his throat, he nodded yes, watching Rossi's thick, weathered, hands paw through the crinkling, loved, pages. The reassuring sound of turning, binded paper flicked a switch somewhere inside of him, and Reid felt his alertness begin to slip.

"I think this one's appropriate." Dave smiled at the younger man, who was fighting a losing battle with sleep once more. Reid heard the words and the deep tone, fluttering his eyelids against the oncoming unconsciousness. Rossi's voice faded from view, but the acceptance he felt melted into his core, seeping to every aching joint.

_"And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home._ "

* * *

The staccato beeps echoed lonely blips that pinged off of the white walls in the dim hospital room, and the consistent lull made Aaron Hotchner's body sag and bend with the weight of the past hours. He had been running for almost two days, a city had been saved by an impending terrorist attack, and his youngest, most intelligent, agent was sequester in an all too familiar hospital bed. Aaron sighed, stretching his sore arms towards the ceiling. His suit jacket hung from a discarded chair and the dark color was only separated by his wrinkled red tie. A pile of case files tilted upwards from the floor, and Hotch pushed his rolled shirt sleeves to his elbows. How long he had been sleeping next to Reid's bedside, Hotch wasn't sure, but, from the inconsistent level of activity filtering inside from the hallway, he figured it was early morning. A hospital food tray was still covered next to Reid's bed, but a crinkled bag sat on the top. Curious, Hotch carefully opened the paper and was immediately attacked by the mouth-watering smells of a fast food cheeseburger. Without another thought, Hotch shoved the wrapping aside and bit into the still-warm treat. No doubt, Morgan, who he had relieved from bedside duty, bought the burger while he was dozing. Hotch made a mental note to thank Derek when he woke from the spare bed the nurses had provided. By now, Hotch understood, they had accepted Morgan would be making himself at home until Reid was deemed medically fit to leave. Instead of watching him attempt to sleep on hard plastic, the nurses had offered the younger agent an unused bed, which he gratefully retreated to when Hotch showed up a few hours earlier.

Now, awake and less hungry than he had been, Hotch turned his attention to Spencer. He was sleeping with one arm draped protectively across his stomach. Reid's head was tucked to Hotch's side, dipping downwards towards his jutting shoulder. The angle made a stray bit of his hair curl towards his eyelashes, and Hotch watched them flutter. Dr. Kimura said it was a miracle Reid could sleep at all given the amount of pain he had to be experiencing, but Hotch had kept quiet. In all his time knowing Reid, he had come to the conclusion that the kid's pain tolerance was higher, much higher, than most.

Aaron leaned forward against the bed's rail. It still felt unnatural to see Reid hooked to so much machinery, but at least the ventilator had been removed fairly quickly. That was a sight, according to Morgan, that he didn't need burned into his brain for all eternity. Before he could stop the memory, a familiar sentence filled with terror and consequence bled through Hotch's usually stoic facade:

_Hotch, I really screwed up this time._

He had never heard Reid so open before, never so scared, and never so desperate for his unwavering support. He had done everything he could, been the rock-solid leader, and, now, in a moment of rest, Hotch felt older than he had in years.

"Well, Reid," He said to the sleeping agent, "You really managed to royally mess up this time." Hotch chuckled and the sound was void of any lightness. Reid's eyelids trembled, but the young man did not move or wake.

"But you managed to figure everything out," Hotch shook his head in bitter disbelief, "so I guess I'll let this one slide." Staring at the monitors and back to Reid, Hotch sighed, exhausted. Once, he had told Reid that, if he acted like the only person in the room again, he'd fire him. Now, he felt grateful Reid had been smart and quick enough to block Morgan from infection too.

"Jesus, Reid." Hotch bent his head downwards, eyes filled with a burning, staring at the floor while his tense neck muscles ache under the strain of his head's weight. It was one thing for Hotch to kick Reid in order to trick an unsub. It was another to interrogate and instigate another in a prison cell, and it was entirely different for Reid to be taken by a mentally unstable unsub in Georgia and to be trapped in a Colorado compound by a religious cult leader. But Anthrax? That was not okay. It was not right. It was too surreal, too imminent, and Agent Hotchner sighed again, pushing all the air in his lungs outward.

"I think you've actually left me speechless, Reid." Hotch admitted, shoulders shaking with the thought. Reid stirred again, grimaced at the movement, but still stayed asleep.

"Not many agents would have stayed in that lab, but I guess you're not comparable to everyone else..." It came down to that observation, as it always had with Reid, and Hotch didn't know if it was the pressing exhaustion or the past string of events that lined fiery tears at the outermost layer of his eyes.

"I've never been that scared in my entire life." Hotch confessed to the quiet room and the thin, shivering man. Pulling the mangled blankets upwards, Hotch covered Spencer and watched as the young man's tremors subsided. Gently, as if Reid were Jack, he pushed a few strands of Reid's hair away from his long, fluttering eyelashes. He had no idea if Reid was dreaming or if he was experiencing waves of pain, but, suddenly, much sooner that he would have liked, a thought set his face into a collapsed expression. How was any of this fair? Yes, Reid had sacrificed himself to save Morgan from infection. He had willingly placed his life in a grave situation and had continued to search for a cure to help the other victims. How could someone who had experienced so much past suffering act so altruistically? How could he have been right about everything, even with the deadly particles surging through his veins-the very same veins that once pulsated with a much stronger, yet willingly injected, dosage of drugs? How could he withstand the pain now, the imminent rolling of maladies, when all Hotch could see was a set of bright eyes, a mop of curly wisps, and a fidgeting jerk of hands as they weaved through the air to accompany some statistical tangent? It wasn't fair, as the world often proved, but, at this moment, Aaron Hotchner understood what had come dangerously close to unraveling.

Leaning closer to the sleeping agent, Hotch grabbed Reid's burning hand, wrapping his fingers to give a small, reassuring squeeze. Reid's lips parted, but his eyes did not open. Hotch moved closer still, waiting to whisper until he could feel Reid's still too-high temperature radiating warmth off his skin.

"In all my years in the FBI, Reid, I've seen a lot of cases. I've been hurt a few times. I've laughed. I've cried, and I've been petrified. There were cases that ended easily, and many more that haven't ended at all. I've felt depressed, alone, and, at some times, dejected. I've called a lot of people coworkers and I've called even fewer friends. Some have gone, some have lost their way, and others are heading towards that conclusion..." Hotch sighed when Reid's fingers curled around his own. He understood Reid knew he was there by the sound of voice, but his unconscious state did not change.

"I guess what I'm trying to explain, Reid, is that being the leader isn't easy. It may look like I'm always calm, always ready to know what to do and how to do it, but, more often than not, I don't know. I go off my instincts, my past, and what the case and team calls for, but, during certain times, like the past few days, I have to dig down to keep myself together..." A few tears escaped Hotch's eyes and he paused to regain some composure.

"Thank you for trusting my decisions today. Thank you for staying in that lab. Thank you for being you, Reid." Hotch paused again, eyes scanning the outline of Reid' frail body under hospital sheets.

"Thank you for rejecting narcotics, even though all these doctors think you're crazy." Hotch chuckled, pressing Reid's hand against his own once more. His voice cracked when he spoke, but the tone was grateful. It was reassuring. It was filled with fear and love.

"I've worked with a lot of people, Reid. All good people, all strong, all brave, but I've never been as proud of myself, or anyone else, as I am of you today."

The heaviness in the room suddenly shifted, and Agent Hotchner gave the team's youngest member a rare grin before leaning back in his chair. Hand still in Reid's, he continued murmuring in a low, even tone. He told Reid about his prosecuting days. He explained the court system and its waxing and waning towards some skewed for of justice. He detailed how he met Hayley, how they fell apart, but how much he loved Jack. He told Reid about the younger Rossi, the earlier cases and times, and how the BAU, despite all the blackness, was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He told Reid about situations, places, and people that had shaped, shattered, and shifted his life. He told the younger agent about how he feared that his son would one day despise his late, irregular hours and inconsistent presence. He explained his initial reactions, and there were many, when he first met Reid. He outlined the past, the present, and the uncertain future. He spoke until his throat was hoarse and his body weighted. He spoke until he drifted to sleep once more.

* * *

"Can we stop here, Morgan?" Reid asked, motioning towards a park bench stationed directly in spring rays. Morgan nodded in agreement, anticipating the sun's comforting warmth as he sunk into the wooden seat with Reid at his side. Tackling his dripping ice cream cone, Morgan savored how the cool food soothed his parched throat. Reid scooped minuscule bites of his chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream onto a plastic spoon. Morgan could tell that Reid, for his sake, was eating, even though his full appetite still hadn't returned. It had been a about two weeks since his infection, but the effects lingered: Reid was pale, his energy low, his appetite lacking, and he had such a booming cough that it caused anyone in the vicinity of the sound to bolt upright in surprise. The whole team had wanted Reid to stay in the hospital much longer, but the young man had protested by agreeing to take time off from work if he could recuperate in his own home. Dr. Kimura had agreed, and Reid checked in with her via daily visits to her office and nightly phone calls or email exchanges. Reid insisted he felt better with each passing day, and Morgan, being protective of him, had made sure to stop by after work each day. Seeing as it was a beautiful Saturday and the team had the day off, Morgan drove to Reid's apartment, lured him outside with the promise of ice cream, and the two men now sat with their cool treats in a park filled with the happy, playful shrieks of children, indistinguishable sounds of distant stereos, and faded yells from pickup sports games.

"This feels good." Reid murmured, eyes closed and head pointed upwards. Internally, he was grateful Morgan had agreed to sit. They had been walking for a while and he was becoming exhausted. Derek shot a quick look at Reid, noticing how the light illuminated the dark ringlets under his eyes and his near-translucent skin. Reid's ice cream cup which was filled with soupy ice cream accentuated by dark chocolate chunks. Fear struck somewhere deep inside him core, and Morgan turned his attention back to his ice cream cone.

"Maybe we should have brought some suntan lotion, Reid. You're probably gonna get burned." Reid smiled, opening his lids and staring at the melted milk product.

"Hey Morgan, did you know that contracting one or more sunburn increases the risk of acquiring skin cancer, particularly Melanoma?" Morgan chuckled for a moment, and Reid crinkled his forehead in confusion.

"Actually, one in five people will develop skin cancer in their lifetime." He rattled. Oddly enough, Morgan's laughter increased intensity. For the life of him, Reid could not understand what was so amusing. Skin cancer was a dangerous illness. Frowning, he turned towards the older agent.

"What's so funny? Skin cancer is really serious, Morgan! One person dies every hour from Melanoma!" Morgan howled, clutching his aching sides. When he finally composed himself, he looked at Reid with traces of laughter still lining his expression.

"Sorry Reid," Morgan sucked in giant gulps of air while swatting at errant traces of tears collecting at the lining of his eyes. Reid's scowl wasn't making this situation any less amusing, although, deep down, Morgan knew that his laughter was just a cover up for the emotions that were mounting inside.

"It just sounds so good to hear you rambling about something." Morgan smiled.

"And you find skin cancer hysterical?" Reid asked, his voice rising to a shrill octave. Morgan shrugged, composing himself by staring at the green blades of grass.

"I was kind of afraid I'd never hear your voice again." Reid swallowed deeply at the admission, staring at his sneakers. _Of course_, it came down to his brush with death; however, what he hadn't really accepted yet was the relief everyone expressed. On some days, when he became exhausted by the slightest movement, his thoughts were still slow to formulate, and he became annoyed by the lack of normalcy, he still felt close to the edge of some inevitable demise. Noticing his colleague's far-off gaze, Morgan bit his lip. It was clear that Reid was still struggling with what had happened. Hell, Reid's rushed "I'm sorry" from behind a glass lab door had haunted Derek every night for weeks.

"I'm sorry." Reid said, avoiding Morgan's introspective gaze. He bit his lip, focusing on children playing on a jungle gym a few feet away. The blurred images moved with an agility he never possessed.

"It's alright, kid." Morgan paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. Reid's now completely discarded ice cream sat between the two men. Morgan rubbed the tense muscles at the base of his neck. What could he possibly say to ease the reality of the situation? Was there anything to say when your colleague, the one you consider to be and protect like a little brother, was infected with a deadly biochemical agent, yet ensured that you, and a score of others, were protected? There definitely was no protocol on how to deal with the emotional aftermath of the situation.

"I made Garcia record a video for my mother, Morgan. You know, just in case..." Reid flopped backwards onto the bench, closing his eyes to the blinding, intrusive sun. Morgan pursed his lips together, keeping any comments inside. Reid didn't seem to want or desire his input. In fact, if his assumptions were correct, Morgan figured what Reid really needed was to talk things through. Near death events were never easy to grapple with, and Reid's mind, however brilliant, usually worked on hyper-drive with these types of things. It was best to stay quiet and let Reid work through everything.

"I updated my will too. I don't know if that makes me paranoid, but, up until a few weeks ago, I never really thought this job could kill me..." Reid opened his eyes, sending an appraising glance at Derek, who was nodding in agreement.

"Who wants to think about that all the time, kid?" Morgan asked. Reid's eyes lit in understanding. "I don't think we'd be very good at our job if we always were thinking about all the ways it could kill us."

"It can, though. They should definitely emphasized that more on the job application." Morgan snorted at Reid's words.

"I don't really think of how close we come to dying sometimes either, Reid, but you're right. I guess we're just used to it by now." Reid gave a hardened chuckle.

"That doesn't sound healthy, Morgan. We're desensitized." Across the park, Morgan watched a few hungry birds inch closer and closer to a picnicking couple.

"I dunno, Reid. I mean, all things considered, it actually makes me feel kind of grateful every time we make it out alive. Every close call is a reminder to enjoy life." Reid nodded slowly, as if the movement took all his stored energy.

"I don't think I realized how close I came until I got home..." He confessed, feeling the weight of Morgan's stare. The older agent didn't respond, and Reid knew it was out of respect. He wasn't prying, even though Reid could tell Morgan wanted to very badly. Derek was waiting for Reid to turn the conversation at his own pace. He coughed, taking a few agonizing minutes to catch his breath before continuing.

"After I was released from the hospital, I went back to my apartment and everything was the same as always. I mean, my books were on their shelves, my clothes in the closest, and no food was in the fridge." Morgan smirked and Reid returned the small gesture.

"But I don't know, Morgan. It felt different. I guess _I _felt different." Morgan nodded. Reid's words made sense. Too much sense.

"I understand." Morgan admitted. "When JJ finally made me go home while you were in the hospital, I felt like a stranger in my own apartment."

"Why is that?" Reid asked, eyebrows raising. Morgan shrugged, extending both arms on the bench's top. It was the closest he would get to physically comforting Reid. If Spencer noticed this gesture, he ignored it.

"Not sure, kid. Maybe it's life's way of giving you a kick in the ass. One really messed up dose of reality." Reid smiled genuinely, titling his face towards the sun once more. A slight breeze floated through the trees, creating a soft hum of fluttering leaves. Reid watched a game of touch football, following the athletes with darting eyes. What he wanted to say was working its way to the surface, but he wasn't sure he was brave enough to voice the silent, albeit loud, thought. Next to him, Morgan looked calm and content. Reid flicked a nervous tongue over his lips. If he didn't say something, anything, there'd be hell to pay later.

"I've been having cravings." Reid's words were so soft, so unexpected, that Derek nearly jumped in surprise.

"That makes sense, Pretty Boy." He began, choosing his words carefully, "I can't imagine Anthrax infection makes you feel good." Reid laughed this time and the sound branched outwards, pinging off tree trunks and green leaves.

"There were a few moments directly following my infection where I almost asked for medication..." Reid trailed off with red shame burning his cheeks. Morgan leaned forward on the bench, resting his forearms on his knees while turning his head towards Reid.

"Reid, listen to me." The soft, familiar, intense tone caught Reid's attention. Immediately, his cheeks returned to their pale pallor as he met the older agent's dark, swirling look.

"No one, and I mean _no one_, would judge you for wanting pain medication. To be honest, you're much stronger than all of us. Hell, I'd be screaming like a baby if the roles were reversed." Reid smiled, throwing his eyes towards the ground before returning his gaze to Morgan.

"Rossi told me you repeatedly told the nurses and doctors I didn't want any narcotics..." It was Derek's turn to be embarrassed, and he turned his head away from Spencer. The request had felt honorable enough at the time, but, now, Morgan thought he may have caused Reid even more pain.

"Reid, I'm sorry."

"Why?" Reid's incredulous tone made Morgan posture straightened.

"I didn't think of how much pain you'd be in..." He explained softly. Reid shook his head in protest.

"Are you kidding, Morgan?" He asked, somewhat amused and shocked. "I'm glad you did that. Pain, however bad, is just physical. I can deal with that, but, I know if I had just one dose in the hospital, I'd want more and more and I wouldn't be able to stop..." He trailed off, arms rising and dropping in some half-attempt at a gesture.

"Well," Morgan's husky tone surprised Reid, "I guess I did the right thing then..."

The two men sat silently on the bench. The sun felt warm, but not oppressively so, and Morgan sent a sideways glance at the younger agent. For his weak, sickly, appearance, Derek couldn't help but think that Spencer was the strongest person he knew. Reid, feeling his coworker's gaze, turned his head so he and Morgan were locked into a stare.

"Thank you, Morgan." Moments and memories rushed around Morgan: There was a stumbling Reid in a hotel bar; a distraught Reid in a hotel bathroom, and a petrified Reid standing in the entrance to a rehab facility, and a calmer, yet somewhat anxious, Spencer waiting for him on the day he released. Reid was dying at the hands of Tobias Hankel, and, yet, somehow, he was sending muffled apologies through glass lab slider doors. It was Reid's voice he heard in the cult church in Colorado, and Reid's long fingers he saw placing worn cards down on the plane's plastic table.

"You want to keep walking?" Morgan asked, understanding that, if he spoke further, too much would rush outwards. Reid seemed to understand Morgan's emotional conflict and he nodded, standing slowly. The two agents paused for a moment, sent one another knowing looks as they fell in-step towards the park's worn path that was bathed in the cover of the spring sun.


	60. Chapter 60

**Before I begin, I think I owe everyone an apology. In a moment of insecurity, I thought this story had been abandoned by readers and reviewers. However, you guys definitely proved me wrong. I'm _so_ sorry. You all have been and are the best. Thank you for reminding me that I can doubt myself, but I shouldn't doubt this story's followers.**

**Just a few notes:**

**1. This chapter is post episode 6.5, "Safe Haven."**

**2. I took a few poetic liberties with Morgan's past and back story. If everyone could keep that in mind, I'd really appreciate it. **

**3. There are two chapters left. Holy crap! That feels weird to reveal...**

**Again, thank you guys for knocking some sense into me. :) Happy reading!**

* * *

_"There's so many wars we've fought. There's so many things we're not, but, with what we have, for those doubts that swirl around us, for those lives that tear at the seams, we know we're not what we've seen. We'll have the days we break and we'll have the scars to prove it. We'll have the bonds we'll save, but we'll have the heart not to lose it. For all the times we've stopped, for all the things I'm not, we put one foot in front of the other. We move like we ain't got no other. We go when we go. We're marching on." -OneRepublic & Timbaland, "Marchin' On."_

* * *

The television perched extended beams over the coffee table where Derek Morgan's socked feet were currently resting. The disjointed, neon glow pinged off the half-dozen beer bottles situated on the wooden slab, and Morgan took a bitter gulp of his newest drink while staring at the figures on the flat screen. He had no idea what he was watching, but the dull droning of a late-night sitcom soothed his fears, anxieties, and the fact that Ellie, and her dead father, had stirred memories buried deep within his subconscious. Spicer's death had been familiar, too familiar, and even though he knew Ellie was now safe and loved with her mother, Derek couldn't help but feel simultaneously overwhelmed and drained. When he closed his eyes, Spicer was begging from promises he couldn't possible keep, but, after deafening shattering in the form of a gunshot, it was his father's, not Spicer's, body that fell to the floor. Morgan hadn't even bothered with sleep and now, in the depths of a night that was still too far from morning, Morgan sat drinking in his living room.

It was cold outside, but not frigid just yet, and Spencer Reid walked with quick, light steps over damp pavement. The crisp air burned the lining of his nostrils, and he took a long, deep exhalation that stung tears to his eyes and scorched the inside of his throat. It had taken him all night to think of what to do, what to say, but he knew this was the time, if there ever was a right one, to do what had been building for years. After watching Morgan's struggles with Ellie and his obvious personal demons that had surfaced, Reid understood he had procrastinated long enough. He sighed once he was on the stone doorstep, bouncing a shaking fist against the wooden door. His small knocks weren't too loud, but Spencer could tell Morgan had heard the slight echoes by the shuffling coming from inside the apartment.

___What the hell? _Morgan thought, immediately pulling his glock into his hand while placing the half-empty beer with the others on the table. ___Who the hell is here at 3 A.M.? _His steps were quick, yet quiet, and with one finger wrapped around the trigger, he shoved an eyeball to the peephole, half-expecting to see a ghost situated on the outside.

Instead, Reid stood with rumpled hair and a drawn, pinched expression. Confused, Derek yanked at the locks with his free hand, pulling the door open with a burst of cold air.

"Reid? Are you alright?" The young man's hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, but his expression was soft, yet creased with worry. He nodded, shifting his eyes to Morgan's gun before resting on the older agent's bloodshot, drooping gaze.

"I'm okay." He explained with an appraising tilt of the head. "Can I come in?" Dumbfounded, Derek nodded and stepped aside. He watched Reid cross the threshold to his apartment with shuffled steps that stopped in front of the couch. Spencer stared at the empty beer bottles, eyes traveling to the case on the floor and back towards the television screen before he sat on the cushion that was not marked by the impression of Derek's missing body weight. Morgan ran his hand over the tense muscles at back of his neck and headed back towards his seat, placing the gun back on a side table before doing so.

"You want a beer?" He asked. Reid shrugged, and Morgan reached into the cardboard box for an unopened bottle. Reid nodded his head in appreciation, taking the drink, twisting the cap, and downing a long swig. Morgan's face morphed in surprise as he shifted against the still-warm couch cushion. What the hell was happening?

Silence wrapped around the room and its occupants. Reid leaned forward, resting the bottle on his knees between his palms. He pretended to be interested the television show, but Derek knew from the low volume, Reid's unexpected arrival, and his lack of pop culture knowledge, he had no idea what he was watching. Morgan hadn't even been giving the show the slightest bit of his attention. The older agent leaned back onto the soft pillows, observing Reid's too-focused stare and fidgeting legs. It was obvious the kid wanted to say something, but, for the life of him, Derek could not guess what came next.

"What's going on, Reid?" Oddly, Reid smiled at the television, taking another deep gulp of his beer. He wasn't a big drinker, yet he found the bitter hops refreshing. Noticing he was already finished with one drink, Morgan groped for the case by his feet, yanking another bottle out of its depths. Reid took the glass container with a nod, turning the cap with a loud pop.

"I'm okay." His voice was gentle, but stern, and Morgan felt his expression furrow as he brought his own drink to his lips.

"It's three in the morning, Reid." Spencer chuckled, easing into couch cushions. The bottle stayed between his hands, which were shaking slightly.

"Actually, I wanted to know how you were." He admitted, shooting a sideways glance at Derek's perplexed look.

"And you couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"It is tomorrow, Morgan." The older agent sighed. He should have known someone would check in on him after their most recent case, but he expected Garcia or Emily before Reid. Hell, he'd even take Rossi's interrogation before the kid's.

"I'm fine." He lied, and the dull, covered sound made Reid's eyes narrow in his direction. It was a stare that told Morgan the younger agent knew he was hiding the truth. Morgan exhaled a cohort of air and ran a rough hand over his eyes.

"Really?" Reid questioned as he brought his lips around the bottle's opening.

"What do you want me to say, Reid?" Morgan asked with a little too much force. Reid raised his eyebrows, sending a steady look in his direction.

"Whatever you want, Morgan. Anything, really. Just don't sit here drinking and pretending nothing's bothering you." Morgan couldn't stop the bitter sound that spurted from his lips. Reid took another gulp, and Morgan watched his Adam's Apple bob under the liquid weight.

"You should talk." Morgan retaliated, "You've used worse coping mechanisms before." Reid nodded in agreement, never breaking Morgan's intense stare. Morgan pursed dry lips together into a thin line of pain. God, he hated Reid, but, somewhere inside, he was glad the kid had suddenly stopped by his darkened apartment. If anyone could take an insult, especially the insinuated, hurtful kind Morgan had just hurled ruthlessly outwards, it was Reid.

"Yeah, I know, but you're too good for that," Reid began, smiling weirdly at Morgan, "You're too good for this too." Reid gestured at the discarded bottles and the muffled sound of the television. Tears prickled at Morgan's eyes and he drained a good portion of his beer to hide their presence. Reid's hazel eyes were burning holes through his sloppy defenses.

"Spicer made me promise to protect Ellie," he admitted, eyes casted downward in shame. Reid shifted and the movement stirred the cushions.

"You did do that, Morgan." Reid's voice was soft. Derek nodded at the assurance.

"But I can't do that now, Reid. She's with her mom, the same mother who disappeared years ago, and I'm supposed to believe, to just blindly accept, that Ellie will be okay?" Anger was unfurling deep within his stomach. His voiced burned and seethed, but it also wavered and threatened to break. Reid nodded, swallowing more beer before speaking.

"I think you have to trust her mother, Morgan. I mean, yeah, she left, but she's here now. She came back when it counted." Reid's look was strong, yet caring, and Morgan felt the desire to lash out escape through his pores. His muscles sagged, but his rage had suddenly departed, leaving a deep void for a rare moment of calm. How Reid was always able to ease his temper at his most confrontational moments, Morgan wasn't sure, but he was thankful for the young man's ability all the same.

"I guess your right, kid." Without asking, Morgan reached for two new beers, handing Reid another one and taking one for himself. A comfortable silence fell onto the room and, for a long pause, the only sounds came from the murmuring television that was accentuated by the light swaying of tree branches as they brushed against the living room windows.

"It's not just Ellie, though." Reid acknowledge, gaze focused at the opposite walls where Morgan had placed a few framed pictures of his family and the BAU. Spencer was surprised to see one of he and Morgan, arms lazily wrapped around one another, laughing at something someone had said at the most recent FBI outing. Someone, probably Garcia, had enlarged the black and white photograph and the results showcased a boyish, lighthearted moment between the two. Reid blinked away tears at the memory and Morgan's subtle way of showing what was most important to him.

"Spicer's death made me think of my father..." Morgan whispered with a wobbling tone. Reid nodded, shooting an appraising look at his colleague. The older agent avoided his introspective gaze, focusing on various points within the room. In the muted darkness, Reid could not tell if Morgan's eyes were about to release years of anguish. He stayed quiet, knowing the Derek would speak if he felt comfortable.

"I was just a kid, Reid, but I remember everything..." Reid had known Morgan for a long time but he had never heard the story he knew was going to be unearthed. He took a sharp collection of air before Morgan marched on.

"It was late, like it is now, and I wasn't supposed to be awake, but I was reading a comic book under the covers. My mother and sisters were at my Aunt's for some girl's night thing they planned for months..." Derek bit his lip at the memory, glaring at the floor that soon became a shifting pattern of shapes and colors.

"There was this noise downstairs, so I went to check it out. My dad used to make late night snacks sometimes. If I joined him, I usually got a chocolate milk and a few cookies..." Morgan laughed to himself, wiping threatening droplets away from his cheeks. Reid took another sip of his drink and waited.

"But it wasn't my father. It was someone who broke in, and my dad came down the stairs before I did. He never had a chance, Reid..." Morgan stopped as the hot tears burned his cool cheeks. Reid didn't move, didn't dare breathe too loudly, but his presence, oddly, comforted Derek, who composed himself rather quickly.

"I'm sorry, Morgan." Reid's voice was sympathetic, and Morgan's jaw clenched at the sound. Derek roughed a palm over his face once more while leaning back into the cushion. He allowed his head to rest against the couch's back as he closed his eyes.

"It was hard after that, kid. It's hard to grow up without a father."

"I know." This time, Reid's voice was lined with understanding. Morgan felt another hot surge of anger, but not for his father's life that had been cut too short. Now, he recognized it was for Reid's absent father, who had lived ten minutes away but hadn't even bothered to stop by at all.

"Sometimes I wonder if he'd be proud of me," Morgan confessed, shaking his head side to side.

"I think he'd be very proud of you." The older agent glanced at Reid, noting how his eyes were glowing with an unusual intensity. It was a fire that only presented itself when he was really ignited and passionate about some random fact, tangent, or cause.

"I hope so, kid. I really do."

"I know so." Reid leaned forward to place his bottle on the coffee table, turning towards Morgan when he was done. For a long moment, the two agents held a stare before Reid reached deep into his pocket, keeping a retrieved object covered in his curled fist.

"I came over here to see if you were okay, but that wasn't my only reason either." Reid admitted, flicking his eyes to the floor. Dark eyebrows shot upwards, but Derek understood it was his turn to listen.

"I've been waiting to do this for a long time. I know I could have done it sooner, or should have even, but it never felt right..." Reid trailed off, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He was nervous, but Morgan could not figure out why.

"Reid-"

"Just let me get through this, okay?" Reid asked with wide, petrified eyes. Derek nodded slowly, confused and curious. The conversation had taken a strange turn. Reid pursed his lips together and met Derek's look again.

"A few years ago, I needed help. I needed someone to sit with me, to listen without judgement, to tell me I'd be okay, and to shove me down a path I was afraid to travel." Morgan's mouth went dry and the booming sound of his heart's thudding resounded in his ears. His stomach twisted into tangles and the older agent bit his bottom lip so hard he tasted metal. It was very rare Reid spoke of his past addiction and Derek hoped this conversation was going in a more positive direction than he anticipated.

"I remember, Reid." What Reid didn't know was how much Derek remembered. It felt like a different lifetime, but, sometimes, during his bleakest hours of existence or on a quiet plane ride home, Derek Morgan recalled Reid's quivering shell, the conversational whirlwind in a hotel bathroom, and the long drive to the rehab center. If he closed his eyes long enough, Morgan felt Reid's jutting bones when the young man had grabbed onto his shirt, balling the fabric with a desperation as his tears stained thin cotton. If he felt particularly vulnerable, Derek recalled the quick, terrified look Reid had sent him from a graveled path leading to the rehabilitation center. Things were different and changed now, but, sometimes, the past was never far his mind.

"You were there, Morgan. You never judged me. You never told me I wasn't strong enough, and you never once since then have failed to protect me, even when I don't want you to or I haven't asked you to." Reid smiled and Morgan returned the gesture. Reid knew just as well as he did that their brother-type relationship was a permanent fixture. It didn't matter that Reid was almost thirty and had more than proved himself capable of handling their dangerous job. If he needed help, Morgan would always be there. It was a silent agreement between the two men, and neither felt that it was right to break the habit now, even after all the time and change that had come to pass.

"And I've been thinking about what would have happened to me if you weren't there..." Reid stared at his closed fists for a moment, taking strength from the warming object enclosed around his bony knuckles. It was a thought that had circled his mind many times since he came back from the rehab facility. When Gideon left and Rossi returned, when Cyrus trapped he and Emily, when Anthrax surged through his veins, when Hotch was stabbed, when he hobbled on crutches and Morgan became the Unit Chief, when Hayley died, and when JJ was forced to go, Reid struggled, yet, remained sober. He couldn't do that to himself again and, oddly enough, he knew he couldn't do that to Morgan. Not after everything he had done. Not after all those times he had been there.

"The thing is, Morgan, I know I would have fallen deeper if you hadn't intervened. Who knows if I would have made it out alive either." Derek's eyes prickled with tears but he did not let them fall. Reid's strong, unwavering gaze was holding him upright.

"And this," Reid extended his hand outwards and Morgan uncurled his fingers, anticipating the release of what was in Reid's clutch, "is the only way I know how to thank you." Something warm, circular, and small fell into his upturned palm and Morgan closed his own hand around it, lining his grasp were Reid's had just been. He knew what it was from its first hit, and the lump burning in the back of his throat would not allow him to speak. Reid didn't break his stare, ignoring the tears that Morgan knew were canvassing his dark cheeks.

"Reid, I can't take this." He cracked in weak protest. Reid shook his head in rebuttal as tears escaped his eyes. Morgan watched them catch on Reid's angular, prominent cheekbones.

"You need it more than I do." Only then did Derek Morgan turn his attention to the one year medallion in his hand. It was smooth, as if a desperate hand had grazed over its front on numerous occasions. Unknowingly, Morgan had seen Reid shove his hands into his pockets countless times over the past few years. He never imagined why, but, now, in this half-lit living room flanked by beer bottles, Derek understood Reid had been drawing strength from an unseen reservoir.

"What if you need this?" He asked. Reid wiped a few stray droplets of water from his cheeks and the liquid made a smudged outline on his skin. Derek took a moment to do the same, but the singular path was already dried to his face. In a moment that stretch endlessly, Derek felt the years play out between the them like the endless undulations of sea waves against ancient sand.

"I think I'll be alright." Reid said in a soft tone. Morgan nodded, tracing the coin with the balls of his fingertips.

"I don't think I understand, Reid." He admitted with an apologetic look in the young genius's direction. A knowing smile traced on Reid's expression.

"You will one day."

And Derek did not argue against this statement because it was filled with understanding, trust, respect, and something else-something he could not quite decipher just yet. It wasn't unusual that he didn't understand Reid, but this confusion felt strangely comfortable, familiar, and needed. He nodded towards the young man, keeping the worn medallion in one hand while grabbing the remote in his other. Reid brought his drink to his lips as Morgan flicked through the networks. He stopped his aimless channel surfing on one that was highlighting how ice cream was made. Derek didn't ask, but met Reid's agreeing eyes. The two men eased into couch cushions with socked feet propped onto the coffee table.

In Derek's palm, the coin burned against his skin, soothing his worries just as much as the man sitting next to him had. There were a lot of things to be grateful for, and Derek was glad his friendship with Reid was strong enough to remind him what was important in life. There would be many more battles, losing ones, and Morgan understood that he'd have to face what would come, what would pass, and what had already created irreversible damage. If anything, he could and would draw on eventual understanding, moments of peace, and, Morgan realized, if the time came when he needed help, he had the tools and support already.

Spencer felt rejuvenated, reinvented, and calm. After everything that had happened, after the hours of sudden, intense cravings, he finally understood what he had overcome. He finally understood what John had meant that night so many years prior, and he was glad he could pass the hard-earned lesson to someone else. He was glad he could be supportive and strong for Morgan in the same ways Morgan had always, unfalteringly, been for him. Reid smiled to himself, shifting against the cushions before breaking through the barrier of silence.

"Hey Morgan, did you know that ice cream was originally..." Reid's voiced carried over the commercials and filtered through the empty spaces. Maybe, one day, Derek would understand everything he fought against, fought for, and everything he could change. Maybe, in time, he'd come to accept the ever-present blackness, appreciate the rare moments of light, and he'd say a silent prayer of thanks to whoever or whatever had allowed him to withstand it all. If and when that time came, he'd make sure to let Reid know how grateful he really was for the years of friendship and acceptance.

Maybe, one day, he'd have a reason that would neatly explain everything. Maybe then, darkness, death, and despair would not leave him breathless from their overwhelming blows. May then, only then, would he understand the true value of Reid, the team, and all the sacrifices he, they, made.

Until then, Derek Morgan realized, he was okay with waiting.


	61. Chapter 61

**Thank you all for such wonderful, heartfelt reviews. You guys are amazing. :) I've had a rough couple days and your comments have been uplifting and motivating.**

**Just a few things to note before reading this chapter:**

**1. When I wrote this chapter and a few that came before this one, I must have really had a penchant for Latin prayers. As with previous usage, these passages are included from my basic knowledge of Latin and religion and are, in no way, meant to be offensive or oppressive. I'm not religious by any means, so this is basically a stylistic/thematic move on my part...**

**2. The following chapter is set between episode 6.11, "25 to Life" and 6.12, "Corzaon." ****Let's just pretend there was a case between those two episodes that we didn't see** . For the sake of actually completing this story, I ignored Reid's headache cannon.****** I also mention and quote episode 3.3, "Scared to Death."**

******3. I'm not sure what's crazier: The fact that this story has 61 chapters or that I only have one more left until it's done...**

* * *

___"There's not meaning in clothes and coffee cups; in cheap hotel furniture, where silence never stops. Through the water, throug____h the rain, to the soul of everything, throw my memories to the wind. And I'm almost gone. Almost." -David Gray, "As I'm Leaving."_

* * *

For as many times as he had been in one during the course of his BAU employment, Spencer Reid had never grown accustom to cemeteries. The ground felt abrasive through the thin soles of his converse sneakers, and he walked slowly, dawdling even more when he saw the hunched silhouette in the distance. Reid knew that the man would visit on the year anniversary of her death, but he thought that his late visiting hour would grant him a speck of privacy. Shifting his heavier than usual messenger bag, Reid proceeded forwards carefully. Traumatic anniversaries, he understood, were difficult for most. Memories never stayed in place, looping on some type of fucked up repeat: who you were, what that once meant, and the jaded person you had become.

Reid hesitated and bit his bottom lip. The man standing in front of him was not the same man who walked briskly into his office everyday in a pressed, impeccable suit. Once, a long time before everything had unraveled, he and Morgan had laughed and joked about Hotch's uptight demeanor, blaming everything on a tightly knotted tie. After Gideon left, he and Prentiss had conversed about Hotch's intensity, although there had been countless other times were Reid watched Hotch lead the team into a battle they were sure to lose, but, somehow, hadn't. He had seen the man's eyes burn with anger, light with instinct, etch with comfort, crease with worry, and he had even watched them fill with tears. However, as he stood in the day's diminishing light, Reid knew he was afraid to approach his boss because of the pulsating pain that would be emanating outwards. Hotch was his rock, their rock, and Spencer didn't know whether to stay, like Hotch would if the situation were switched, or to steal away only to return later that night. Hotch shifted his stance, and, from the older agent's stiff posture, Spencer could tell he had thought he would be alone too. Reid was still internally debating with himself when the familiar voice called outwards:

"It's okay, Reid. You can stay." Spencer nodded to himself, silently questioning how Hotch had known it was him while he stepped to flank his superior's side. The day was fading, but, for a brief moment, it suspended a twilight of congealed pinks and purples streaked across a distant horizon. Reid focused on the vibrant colors instead of the man next to him. It was a sign of privacy and respect that did no go unnoticed.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Everyone left something..." Hotch's voice was filled with gratitude and it cracked at the edges. Reid moved his eyes downwards to the odd collection of objects at the base of Hayley's grave.

"Rossi left the wreath." Hotch said while gesturing towards a beautiful assortment of dark ivy.

"Garcia left the day lilies." Reid stated the obvious once he spotted the bright flower arrangement. To his surprise, Hotch chuckled, but the sound was void of any warmth. It was a reaction from another life, albeit an empty one at that.

"Morgan left the roses." Aaron countered. Reid's eyes traveled to Derek's gift, but he was immediately distracted by the adjacent white envelope with the word "Mom" blocked in large, childlike strokes. Ignoring the familiar burn at the back of his eyes and the sudden thickness in his throat, Reid turned his attention to the remaining mementos at the eclectically decorated grave-site.

"I'd bet money that JJ left the heart-shaped stone." He commented as memories of the media liaison burned between the two men. Hotch nodded, pursing his lips together before speaking. In the low light, his features looked more foreboding and more menacing than Reid could stand to see. He turned his cheek, using it as a barrier against the cool wind and the tumultuous past year.

"And Emily left the prayer..." Hotch found his voice for a moment, but then let the wind carry his sentence into the night. Reid squinted at the mounted piece of laminated paper while scanning the Latin words with quick eyes:

___Absolve, Domine, animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omni vinculo delictorum et gloria tua illis succurente mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis,et lucis æternae beatitudine perfrui._

"I've been standing here trying to figure out what it means for about twenty minutes, but my Latin is very rusty." Hotch admitted nonchalantly, but his tone broke under the weight of the day. An odd memory of Emily reciting the Lord's Prayer in his darkened hospital room floated to Reid's consciousness, and he pushed his lips together in a cracked mold in order to keep everything inside. What was it with Prentiss and Latin prayers during trying moments? Making a mental note to ask Emily later, Reid bounced an assessing look off his boss.

"I can tell you," Reid hesitated offering, shooting Hotch an apologetic look, "Only if you want to know, though." In another time, another life maybe, Spencer realized he would have rushed through the translation at blinding speeds. This was different than some case, though. These words, this ancient prayer, meant something to Hotch. Obviously, Emily had known it would or should would not have left it on display. Aaron kept his eyes trained on the small square, but nodded his approval. Reid closed his eyes for clarity, opening them again when he began speaking in a soft, but strong, voice:

___Forgive, O Lord, the souls of all the faithful departed from all the chains of their sins and by the aid to them of your grace may they deserve to avoid the judgment of revenge, and enjoy the blessedness of everlasting light._

Hotch nodded forcefully, eyes lighting in recognition. Reid waited for the explanation he already knew, understanding Hotch would move the conversation forward.

"It's from the Latin Requiem Mass_._" Hotch explained, although he knew Reid already knew this information. The younger agent nodded.

"The mass for the dead." Reid finished. Hotch sighed, and the exhaustion he felt lingered in the air. Reid repeated the words in his mind again. Emily hadn't known Hayley that well, but she understood Hotch in ways that were different than how he, Morgan, or Rossi did. Spencer had accepted years ago that Emily and Hotch were the two most emotionally composed people he knew, shuffling everything behind dark eyes and unreadable features. It only made sense that they were apparent to one another on totally different levels.

"She left that for me." Hotch told Reid, who bobbed his head in agreement. "She knew I'd see it."

"I guess the question is why did she leave it for you?" Reid's own words propelled him to the past. Gideon's departure felt like eons ago, but Emily's caring voice echoed through the deserted, darkening cemetery:___I think you need to read that letter again and ask yourself why, of all the people he walked away from, did he only explain himself to one person: You._

"It's been a long time since I've prayed and an even longer time since I've been to church," Hotch admitted, "but I doubt Emily's trying to convert me. She's not that religious." Reid nodded, shoving his cold hands deep into his coat pockets. His knee twinged in pain at the sudden decrease in warmth, and Reid realized that a year prior he would of hobbled down to Hayley's grave.

"She wants me to live my life." Hotch said so softly that Reid wasn't sure he heard correctly. His boss's gaze was fixated on the laminated paper, and Reid pretended not to see his quivering chin. His mind shifted again, but this time he remembered Hayley's lifeless body and the unfamiliar, frightening sound of Hotch's wailing. It had shocked him at a level so deep that the world, or at least his world, felt altered somehow. Much later that night he had wordlessly joined Morgan at the older agent's home, staring at the television with the desire to connect through mutual silence and shared acknowledgment that a line had been shattered and they were now peering at it from a dangerous, uncharted place.

"I think I'm actually the dead one." Hotch confessed, and Reid exhaled in order to avoid speaking. He had never heard Hotch sound so dejected and the knowledge was both unnerving and heartbreaking. He stayed silent, sending a gentle look to the unit chief. Aaron caught the gesture and looked away. Reid was thankful when he did.

"I live with my sins, Reid. Divorcing Hayley hurt more than anything I had experienced before, but her death, Foyet, what could have happened to Jack..." He trailed off with a cough that did not hide or stop a few errant tears from canvasing his cheeks. Unsure of what to do, Reid burrowed his hands further down in his coat, remaining quiet. He sensed Hotch needed to speak without interruption, and, if anything, he could offer that support. He owed his superior that much at least.

"Sometimes I have these moments when I think about all the things I did wrong." Hotch sent Reid a watery look. "Sometimes I think about all the chances I had to make things right and how many times I let the job and its horrors get in the way." Disgusted with himself, Hotch shook his head.

"This job is a chain sometimes." Hotch bitterly told the younger man, who nodded with a matched level of understanding. It was almost completely dark now and the wind tore at their uncovered flesh.

"I think," Reid finally began after a long pause, "that you've had a hard year. You've dealt with your wife's death. You're a single father, and you, somehow, still managed to lead our team." Hotch huffed in protest, and Reid reacted before he could stop himself.

"Give yourself some credit, Hotch. After all these years, after all the people who've gone, left... Elle, Gideon, Hayley, JJ..." Reid paused to swallow a ball of emotion. Hotch coughed again, and Reid kept his eyes elsewhere when he continued in a tone he rarely used and, at one point, did not know he possessed.

"After everything that's happened, you're ___allowed _to be human. You're ___allowed _to be scared. You're ___allowed _to ask for help." Reid's intense infliction was familiar to Agent Hotchner. In fact, it was the same one Hotch had used with Spencer during the young man's most heightened times of self doubt. In a span of a few years, the Reid had become strong by facing a barrage of obstacles. Tears to dribbled onto Aaron's proud smile.

"I mean, Hotch," Reid regained some of his usual nervous behavior, flicking his eyes towards Hayley's grave, "you helped, _help_, me all the time. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become an agent." Reid had a strange moment where he heard Gideon's words from lifetimes ago: _It's no secret I've helped you become an agent, Spencer._ However, the difference between Hotch and Gideon was the unit chief would never take credit for Reid's successes. Not once, and certainly not now.

"You became an agent because of _you, _Reid." Spencer expected this rebuttal and he smiled, locking eyes with Hotch's pained expression.

"Really, Hotch? I passed my weapons qualifications after your help. You made sure others respected me professionally and individually. You've always protected me without making me feel insignificant or weak."

"We're a team, Reid. We're responsible for each other when we're in the field." Oddly enough, Reid had expected this argument too, and the knowing smile returned with unforeseen force.

"But you don't have to help outside the field." Hotch opened his mouth, closed it, and pursed his lips together in a fine line. On his face, he wore a mask Reid understood all too well. It was one of acceptance, defeat, and pained curiosity. He inhaled deeply before continuing with the words he desperately needed Hotch to hear.

"You've _always_ been there. I never asked for your guidance or advice, yet I can't imagine my life without it." Silence followed Reid's words, and Aaron Hotchner listened to the faint sound of traffic lining the distant freeway. Around the two men, the rustling of tree leaves in the wind rumbled and rolled over hills and stone markers. The tightness in his chest loosened its grip and, standing with flushed cheeks hidden by the night, Hotch felt Reid's words break through sadness, the oncoming night, and years worth of stored memories.

"For a genius, I've done a lot of stupid things and you didn't fire me, although I'm pretty sure you threatened it once." In spite of the day's weight, Hotch let out the smallest snort. Reid watched how Hotch's cheeks lined a smile at the edges.

"Reid-" The young man wasn't finished, however, and his tone extended outwards. When Hotch listened closely, he recognized the inflection as one Reid only used when he was in the midst of breaking a case. It was a tone that told Aaron that Reid believed in what he was saying with all his heart.

"I'm pretty sure that, if it wasn't for you and your support, I would have lost myself a long time ago." Reid sent Hotch a small, appreciative smile, and Hotch couldn't stop himself from returning the expression. He knew just as well as Reid did that the insinuation to his drug addiction and the countless other cases and events that had gone wrong was Reid's way of putting things in perspective. Aaron felt a surge of gratitude shoot through his body. Time, it seemed, had caught up with them both and, now, with the slight role reversal, Agent Hotchner was keenly aware of and thankful for the switch. All it took was a few simple words, but Hotch understood why it had to be Reid, not Rossi, Emily, or Morgan, who knocked some sense into him.

"Thanks, Reid." When Reid heard some of his boss's usual self control, he turned his eyebrows towards the older man, who, weirdly, was smiling at him as though he hadn't seen Reid in a long time and was comforted by his presence.

"I brought Hayley something too." Reid mentioned, relieved to have a distraction from Hotch's oscillating, disarming emotions. Reaching into his bag, Reid groped at various items until his hand found the familiar frame. He pulled at it, outstretching his hand towards the unit chief. Hotch took the picture, pausing a long moment to stare at the lope-sided, younger grins. Encased in glass, Reid had placed a picture of he and Hayley many years prior. Hotch remembered the photograph was taken before the Hankel case on a Super Bowl Sunday trip to the bar. Flushed from dancing and a few drinks, Aaron and Hayley had posed when someone insisted on taking their photograph. It was before endless arguments, the divorce, the nightly visits to his sleeping son after trying cases, and long before his ex wife's death. When he allowed himself to remember, it was before Reid's sobriety had been tested. It was before Gideon had gone AWOL, Emily had found her niche in the team, JJ was forced to leave, and way before Rossi returned to the very group he had founded. The picture of the younger, grinning, somewhat dopey man with his arm slung around his wife's waist no longer reflected who he was or how he felt, but Hotch realized how relieved he was to be reminded of the past.

"I'm sorry if it's too imposing, but I found this picture in one of my old photo albums and I thought that you and Hayley," Reid gestured towards the grave as if Hayley could accept the gift too, "would enjoy it." Hotch smiled at the frame before sending the notion of appreciate towards the nervous, fidgeting Spencer Reid.

"I haven't smiled like that," Hotch tilted the picture in Reid's direction, "in a long time." Reid nodded, swallowing deeply. What had he done? What if what he thought was comforting had sent Hotch spiraling into a deep depression? He hadn't meant to bring the past as a crutch; instead, he hoped it would ignite a spark and rekindle the older agent's positive memories.

"I'm sorry, Hotch," he rushed, "I thought you'd like-"

"Reid." Startled at the suddenly composed, clipped voice, Reid stopped, mouth agape.

"It's perfect. Thank you for helping me remember a better, happier time." Reid smiled, nodding at his boss, who, he realized, held the picture at his side. A surge of relief flowed through Spencer: Hotch was going to take the picture home. It had been, after all, a needed gesture. Glancing upwards at the night sky, Reid noted the galaxies of stars and how, for a brief moment, it reminded him of his parking lot confession so many years prior. It was funny to understand, but, after Hayley's death, Reid hadn't wanted to use at all. He had been so worried and so preoccupied with Hotch and his well being that injecting Dilaudid hadn't crossed his mind. Maybe he was stronger. Maybe the cravings really had subsided for good. Or maybe, Reid smiled to himself at the thought, the pain associated with a gunshot to the knee and being ingested with Anthrax had put things in a very clear perspective.

"I took Jack here this morning." Hotch said randomly, motioning towards the letter Reid noticed earlier. "I couldn't ask Jessica to watch him today of all days. She lost her sister..."

"Where's Jack now?" Reid interrupted, turning the conversation in a different direction before Hotch burrowed deeper into a hole of self pity.

"Morgan has him tonight. He took him to some Disney on ice show." Reid couldn't help the chuckles that escaped his lips. Just the mental image of Derek Morgan surrounded by hyper five year olds and renditions of fairy tales was enough to ensue hysterics.

"That's not the best part, Reid." The older man was shaking with suppressed amusement, "Rossi went with him." At this explanation, Reid burst into laughter and the disjointed sound pinged off naked tree branches and stone markers.

"Are you sure that's the best idea?" Reid joked, eyebrows raising. Aaron frowned.

"Why?" Hotch asked, not sure the where the conversation was heading.

"Do you realize ___who's _with your son?" Reid grinned devilishly. "Morgan and Rossi ___love _woman." Spencer studied Hotch's slack jaw and dimpled cheeks when the older agent's face crumbled with bemused recognition.

"If they teach Jack some tricks..." Hotch trailed off when laughter prevented his threat from forming.

"Rossi's going to try and hit on all the woman sitting near them!" Reid managed to sputter. Hotch's laughter turned manic.

"Oh my god," Aaron gasped between fits, "I sent my son out with the masters of seduction!" Reid barked, grabbing his ribcage. If Jack came back home quoting cheesy pickup lines, it would be both Rossi and Morgan's doing. This hypothetical outcome made both men wild with laughter and it was a while before they calmed enough to speak.

"Do you think Morgan's hitting on all the young single mothers?" Reid asked once he managed to catch his breath. Hotch snorted.

"Not if Rossi beats him to it." Reid grinned, clutching his aching sides.

"I swear, if Jack comes home telling me how all the hunnies like his moves..." Hotch commented, mumbling more to himself than to Reid. The wind tore through Reid's body and he shivered violently.

"It's getting cold, Reid. We should probably go." Hotch, with the faint traces of laughter still lingering on his lips, said when he saw Reid's trembling. Reid did no want to miss his opportunity and he spoke in rushed wording before Hotch could march away into the night.

"So you have some free time then?" Hotch raised his eyebrows at Reid's inquiry.

"You hungry?" Reid continued. Hotch simply stared at him as though he had never really had a good look before. "I know a place with great pie." A few miles away, a car horn blared through the still night. In his shoes, Reid curled his frozen toes. Hotch pointed his red-tipped nose towards the ground.

"My treat." Spencer offered, remembering how Emily had once challenged his fragile, rapidly diminishing facade at the very same diner. Hotch blinked, sending Reid a genuine smile he knew the years had created.

"That sounds great, Reid. I could definitely use a warm piece of pie. Maybe some coffee too." Without needing to signify the end of their conversation, the two men turned away from the oddly-decorated grave, trudging up the hillside away from the night, the past, and the knowledge that ghosts lingered in every shadow. There was a lesson somewhere, Reid understood, but it wasn't his task to search for it. Hotch was whole, although a bit more broken than he had once been, but they all had missing pieces. They were a puzzle that only took a tangible shape when they were together, forming because they saw the same things, waded through the same darkness, almost met their collective and individual ends on numerous occasions, and never once questioned the light when it reappeared.

It had taken years to reach this point, and, with a quick look at his once-again unreadable boss, Reid inwardly smiled. Things were changed, mutated, but supported nonetheless. At his side, Hotch's long strides matched his own. ___If I knew my father, if he stayed and been the man he should have been, _Reid realized, ___I'd want him to be like Hotch. I'd be so proud if he was like Hotch__. _Eager to tell Aaron this epiphany, Spencer parted his lips, clamping them shut almost immediately. He could have shouted these thoughts from the top of a cemetery hill, the catwalk in the BAU, under a star-strewn sky in a darkened parking lot, or even from the entrance of a rehab facility, but, sometimes, Reid understood, words were not needed because he had made it to sobriety and through an onslaught of black. Despite the tangled web of lies and deceit, Hotch had taught him the power of teamwork, loyalty, and trust.

Sometimes, Reid realized, thank you would never be enough.


	62. Chapter 62

**1. This chapter****, as the last one was,** is set between episode, 6.11, "25 to Life, and episode 6.12, "Corazon." Again, let's pretend there were a few cases between the two that we didn't see. Also, for the sake of actually completing this story, **I wanted to stop before the Prentiss/Doyle and Reid headache story arcs.**

**2. Holy crap, there are 400 reviews! You guys have been and are simply amazing. Thank you for everything.  
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**3. And, drum roll please, this is the _LAST_ chapter! ****Please stayed tuned for the A/N that follows this addition and thank you for all your support. I'm really sad this is ending.  
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**Without further ado...**

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_"Sometimes I just get so far from Georgia that I do not know the man behind my eyes." -The District, "Georgia."_

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Spencer Reid traced streams of brilliant sunlight that broke through stained glass, fragmenting colors onto the wooden pews, blooming flowers arrangements, and aimlessly floating particles. The young man inhaled deeply as the comforting scents of wood polish, dust, candle wax, and incense permeated his senses. It had been ages since he first wandered into the quiet church near the BAU headquarters, and, currently, he sat on a pew, soaking in the serenity that flowed from every wooden bench and binded Bible. He was a man who relied too heavily on facts to believe fully in faith, yet this church, this house of worship, felt strangely calming. In a way, Reid understood why Rossi and a jaded, but hopeful, Morgan could enter this building on some diluted quest for peace. Reid stared at the crucifix for a moment before bouncing his eyes off the abandoned alter, curtained penance boxes, and rows of candles lit in remembrance.

The last time he had been in this very building was when he was unsure if he could complete his job with the precision he once was able to control so fluidly. His previous visit had found him vulnerable, scared, and ashamed of his hidden drug use, his inability to control this problem, and his desire to inject Dilaudid or any other narcotic he could obtain. He had been falling apart at the very seams, unraveling at his very core, and he had known his breakdown was as obvious as it was impending and inevitable. Things, a few years prior, had become warped and opaque, yet Reid remembered how he sat in this same church, ignoring messages from his coworkers while wondering if Tobias and everything that had transpired in Georgia would cause his catastrophic end. Back then, he was spiraling, but he also knew that he was approaching the cliff's edge and, sooner or later, he would have to choose between hanging onto or falling off the ledge.

Reid's thoughts, as they rarely did anymore, traveled Tobias. He envisioned the soft brown eyes, the hard void ones, and the accepting dying gaze. He remembered the wooden slab as it came down with force from overhead and how the narrow chamber of the gun elongated to a single bullet. The old plantation sprawled outwards in a lone vision of ancient graves, mismatched leaves that crumbled from the slightest breeze, and the rolling patches of fog that momentarily covered a night sky that had once been illuminated by an infinite number of stars. Burning animal flesh and quoted Bible versus danced in the air, and Reid closed his eyes to the past that no longer felt like a burden.

When he had finished showering earlier that morning, Reid had pawed at the steam lining his bathroom mirror, creating a circular portal of clarity that bounced his own reflection outwards. It was weird to acknowledge, but Reid realized that he looked different, older, and changed. His cheeks were fuller, his hair shorter, his body more muscular, but those were just physical displays. Appearances didn't necessarily showcase the shift that had occurred inside, and Reid focused on his eyes. These were the same eyes that stared at mutilated bodies, assessed dangerous situations, read through volumes of literature, and saw things that others overlooked because his job, life, and experiences had taught him to do otherwise. These were the same eyes that burned with anger in a Texas police station as Hotch reprimanded his erratic behavior. These eyes sent apologies through lab room glass to a terrified Morgan and these very same eyes saw Emily's lying cover in a Colorado compound. His eyes once scanned a scrawled note in an empty cabin and they tearily watched when JJ was forced to leave. When Reid looked at his own reflection and saw a wisdom that the years, not books or degrees, created, he understood what had been changed. He understood he had changed.

Reid's mind recalled his drunken confession to Morgan, the rehab center, Melinda's vacant stares, Tony and Mike's friendship, and his once oscillating emotions. Yet, as the days morphed into weeks, months, and then years, Spencer felt how the passage of time eventually eased the pain of recovery so his addiction and accompanying struggles no longer made him feel like a failure, but, rather, like a wiser, better man. It had taken years to stop the parading ghosts and even longer to end the deluge of nightmares, but Spencer understood he really was a stronger man. With a faint feeling of pride and an odd sense of nostalgia, Reid realized that, now, almost five years later, he really was far from Georgia.

The cell phone attached to his waist vibrated and the rumbles echoed through the empty church. Reid looked at the blocked text, vaguely cognizant that his feet were subconsciously moving before he registered he had been contacted because of a case. It was beautiful outside, and Reid savored the lingering presence of warmth on his back**. **The looming BAU's parking lot twinkled under the mid-morning glow, pinging rays off aluminum roofs and car bodies that refracted light like minuscule shards of broken glass. Once through the double doors, Reid passed through security, matching the quick hellos and head nods he received from other employees with equal affection and professionalism. Because the walk from the church was not a long one, Reid made it to the BAU before the briefing had started. Instead of walking into the conference room where Garcia was toying with the overhead screens, he headed to the kitchen to join Morgan, who was waiting for a pot of coffee to finish brewing. Just the sound of the grumbling kitchen appliance soothed Reid's cramped muscles.

"Close by?" Morgan questioned when Reid materialized next to him. Reid nodded in the affirmative, reaching for a cardboard cup while he waited for Morgan to stop pouring his drink into a plastic travel container. He carefully took the full pot when it was handed over, watching the black liquid collect and rise in the oval container. For a few quiet minutes, both men busied themselves with creamer and sugar packets, habitually fixing their coffees in a natural rhythm.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Morgan asked after a quick assessment of Reid's pensive expression. Reid blew onto the top of his caffeine fix, loving how the steam curled upwards to tickle his cheeks with warmth.

"Nothing really. I was just thinking." Morgan snorted, twirling his light brown coffee with a plastic stirrer.

"That's always dangerous." Reid smiled at Morgan's words, watching as Emily and Seaver stacked files on their respective desks. A few feet behind them, Hotch stood in the doorway of Rossi's office. Although Reid knew the team would be plunged into darkness soon, he revealed in the serenity of shared procrastination. The sound of Seaver and Emily's conversation drifted to Reid's ears.

"Are you gonna share what's going on in that massive brain of yours?" Morgan half-pried and half-teased, leaning his hip against the counter. Reid met the concerned, curious expression.

"Do you ever think about how much you've changed?" Morgan frowned at the question and sipped his drink.

"In what ways?" He asked. Reid took a swig that scorched his taste buds. Before battling drug addiction, he never thought there were various levels and states of change. Logically, this made sense, but Reid had always figured you changed or you didn't. It was a black and white perspective, but, sometimes, he was sick of the constant undulating states of gray that shaded his world.

"Do you ever think about how much this job has changed you?" Morgan leaned more weight against the counter-top, and Reid focused on his converse sneakers.

"Sometimes I think about how I've changed because of the things I've been through and all the crazy things I've seen." Morgan admitted. Reid nodded, gulping more coffee. He was relieved when Morgan continued speaking.

"But it's never about the bad changes, Reid. Most of the time, I'm _so_ grateful that this job has changed me for the better. I'm _so_ grateful that this job has helped me put my life, and everything and everyone that's part of it, into a very clear perspective." Morgan's gravely, sincere words made more sense to Reid than he could express. Spencer nodded at the profoundness of Morgan's confession. Morgan was right. This job, their job, could destroy them all. At one warped point or at some grandiose level of chaos, each one of them could be reduced to vacant shells. They all, at times, weren't far from running, like Elle and Gideon both had done.

Yet, Reid knew that more darkness would come and maybe one day, eventually, they'd all reach the ultimate breaking point. Now, however, with the sun pooling through the BAU windows, a warm coffee, Morgan's caring look, the murmured buzz of Emily and Ashley's conversation, Garcia's distant and brightly-clothed outline, and the flushed, but familiar, sight of Rossi and Hotch heading towards the conference room, everything felt right.

"Yeah," Reid answered Morgan softly, "you're right. This job has definitely changed me for the better." Morgan gave him an odd, accepting look that told Reid that Derek had no idea what was going on in Reid's mind, but wasn't questioning it all the same. Reid's breath hitched in his chest when Morgan reached into his pocket, pulling a circular medallion out of its depths. Although the older agent did not move the coin into the open space between the them, Reid felt his cheeks blaze.

"Is this the type of change you mean?" Morgan asked so quietly that Reid could barely hear him over the sounds of ringing telephones, sputtering copy machines, and multiple, fragmented conversations.

"I think you know the answer to that question." Reid answered in a soft, but firm, tone. Morgan held his hard gaze with one that made Reid feel both protected and supported. He was surprised that Morgan still carried the one year chip with him, but it also was a prospect that Spencer understood. Once and a while, they all needed to be reminded of the 'what ifs' and the 'has beens.' Once and awhile, they needed something tangible to make it through the trying days and even longer nights. And, once and a while, they all needed to hold onto even the slightest bit of hope.

There was another odd sensation collecting in Reid's chest. When he broke Morgan's stare, dropping his eyes to watch Derek return the coin to his pocket, Reid knew it wasn't just about how the job had changed his life or his perceptions. This shift was more than the cases, unsubs, victims, and blinding moments of despair. It was much greater than his brushes with death, his vulnerability and insecurity after trying moments, and it was way more than some genetic predisposition towards madness. The BAU was his purpose in life and the people were his family. They were a weird, splintered, and dysfunctional group, but, Spencer realized, they were a loving one. Morgan grinned, and Reid returned the gesture. Darkness would come, as would light, life, and death, but Spencer Reid understood he belonged. If he could overcome addiction, traumatic aftermath, and periods of desperation, then he could be strong for the team, for his friends, and, most importantly, for himself.

"We should probably go." Morgan said when he saw that none of the other BAU members were in the bullpen. Reid nodded, falling in step with Morgan's brisk strides to the conference room where the rest of the team was still situating themselves around the circular table. Reid and Morgan took the nearest empty chairs among their chattering coworkers. Leaning back in his seat, Reid listened as the teams' voices carried years of struggles over his head. Misplaced and mismatched, the sunlight streamed inwards, elongating into bands of hope. The round table became the turning point of the world, his world, and, when Tobias appeared in the corner, Reid held his gaze with a clear one. The man's eyes were light and void of the demons that had once plagued him. Reid stared, blinked, and Tobias was gone.

"I'm all set" Garcia told Hotch, and the room fell into serious quiet. Seven sets of hands reached for the electronic devices, which were already showcasing the latest mountain of mayhem. They group exchanged dark stares before focusing their collective attention on the unit chief.

"Alright everyone," Hotch surveyed his team before speaking in the same controlled tone that had simultaneously inspired, frightened, directed, and calmed Spencer on numerous occasions. Reid held his breath, understanding that this suspended moment of clarity may very well be the last one he would have before chaos took the reigns. However, the knowledge that there were six others who would experience the same destruction eased his bubbling nerves, and Reid exhaled when Hotch marched forward.

"Let's begin."

And the thing was, Reid realized, he already had.


	63. AN

Hi everyone,

I never thought I'd be writing one of these long AN's, but I didn't want to put too much at the beginning of the last chapter. What follows here is what I've been attempting to say for a while now. I'll try my best to not ramble too much. Here it goes:

In the book _Magical Thinking,_ author August Burroughs wrote that "The problem with writing a book is that you don't get to choose who reads it." I haven't written a novel here, although the length of this story begs to differ, but I do understand his particular qualm. I know I cannot picks who reads, reviews, alerts, etc., but I am extremely grateful for those who have done those things. This story has been difficult, fun, exciting, and heartbreaking to write. As actors do when they're immersed in a role, I have felt each and every emotion I've written. Every scenario has been agonizing to detail and decipher, yet I need to write in the same way musicians need to compose, artists create, and actors perform. I will forever be grateful for the warm, genuine welcome I received from the CM board. From the very start, you guys were accepting, giving, constructively critical, enthusiastic, and kind. (Way too kind in some instances). I never imagined this story would be as long or as winded as it has been, but I am so appreciative of the many, many readers and reviewers who hung on from the beginning, joined in the middle, or have even just read a few chapters here and there. Whether you've reviewed, alerted, favorited, messaged, or have remained silent, thank you. I cannot even explain how much I appreciate everything. Honestly, this isn't a platitude. This is a sincere, deeply felt, thank you.

I know I made grammatical mistakes, typos, structural mistakes, show mistakes, etc. and you guys took the time to tell me in gracious ways. I've always been the type of person who's too self critical and, that being said, I usually don't like anything I write. When I posted this story, I was always genuinely surprised and utterly flabbergasted by the reviews and messages I received, so thank you. I also owe a thank you to those of you on Live Journal who recommended this story and said such wonderful things about it. I got bored at work one day and, in a slightly neurotic and paranoid mood, I googled my own story. I had no idea that others were reading FFG on fanfiction and referring it to others outside of the site. It was a surreal moment to see that, but I am beyond grateful all the same. I originally wanted to have a section in this ridiculously long AN for individual shout outs. However, I don't want to forget anyone. I've tried to personally reply to each and every review I received, and I hope that's been enough thanks for everyone. Just know, you all have helped this story become what it has and you all deserve to be celebrated. So party on!

I have never been an addict, but my paternal grandparents were in AA for about forty years before their passing. By the time I came along, they had been involved in the program for a long time. While we were not extremely close, I was raised with that vernacular and, from an early age, I was given a strange glimpse into the world of personal demons and lifelong recovery. Often, I used this story to release some of my own real life emotional frustrations, and I am moved, humbled, and flattered that my words struck a chord with so many. I know this story was triggering and difficult to read in some spots. I know I may have stepped on a few toes or a lost a few people along the way. I am deeply moved that you readers were so willing to share personal pains and problems with me. I never imagined I'd be able to connect to others with writing in the ways that you've all shared, but, know, that's been the most rewarding and humbling experience throughout the revealing of this story.

While I was in the process of developing, writing, and posting this story, I was also applying to MFA creative writing programs. It was a process I had done (and been rejected by) before, but that didn't make it any less arduous, daunting, or stressful. Often, I used FFG and FF as a stress reliever, confidence booster and motivator, and, most importantly, as a way to work through issues with various writing styles and techniques. That being said, I was accepted into a MFA creative writing program for the fall, and, although I'm not sure I'll be able to post often once it starts, I do want to thank everyone for the comments, criticisms, etc. Without realizing it, you all were supportive and helpful when I was going through that insanely annoying, difficult, and frustrating process. And, as a side note, I am beyond ecstatic to start classes! :)

Lastly, I think that there are many types of battles, whether addiction, familial issues, financial strains, health problems, traumatic aftermaths, etc. Every one of us on this earth has something, known or not, that digs at us deep down. We all have our pains and issues, but we all have the ability and strength to overcome them. I guess that's what I really wanted to showcase in this story: The world is not nearly as depressing or as dark as it can be. Sometimes, you just have to accept a situation or a person for what it is or who they are. Sometimes, you just have to take a deep breath and wait for tomorrow. And, sometimes, that's all you need to move forward.

Without you guys, this story would have ended a long before this note. Sincerely, thank you.

-ShaNini86


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